Age of Sorrow
by BlossomStorm
Summary: Beginning with the rise of a malevolent, superhuman dictator and ending with the fall of civilization, the war that came to be known as the Dragon Campaign shaped the future of Endiness, bringing with it evil, destruction and death. Taking their own destiny in their hands, seven Human heroes become the spearhead of the liberation cause—at the expense of their humanity. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

With one cosmic magical explosion, it was done. The 108th Fruit of the Divine Tree, sealed off and protected from Soa's Fate and its own existence. The tree's globe—its life-giving center—now hung low in the sky, a gruesome moon glowing from the remainder of a body left within. The being's soul rested in his hands, captured in a glass sphere and irrevocably separated from its other half.

"Be careful, Melbie."

The man holding the sphere sniffed. "I've got it under control. No need to worry, Charle."

He shoved the sphere into his coat. Charle smiled, but only briefly.

"I know," she said, "but if you aren't careful, you—or _we_, rather—may be in danger. And the world, too."

"The only danger here is allowing ourselves to be dominated. This prevents that."

Charle's brow furrowed. "Melbu, you know as well as I do that Soa's plan—"

"Like I give two shits about Soa's plan! As far as I'm concerned, the Divine Tree is dead and Soa's been thwarted. I answer to no one."

"Don't say such things!" Charle gasped.

Melbu whirled to face her, his amber eyes flashing.

"And why not?" he snapped. "Is it sacrilegious? Well then, dear sister, you shall fall with me because you sealed the god as well."

Charle's eyes flew wide. "It's not what I meant! You must be careful because—"

"Because of what? The power? Because the Winglies are now the all-supreme beings?" Melbu snorted and turned to his sister. "You're afraid that we just defied Fate, aren't you? That we spit in the face of God!"

Charle swallowed visibly and nodded. Melbu smiled, smugness written in his expression.

"With the 108th species asleep forever, we needn't worry about such trifle things. It's thanks to us that the world isn't going to end."

Charle straightened her posture, clenched her fists and cleared her throat. Her brother towered over her physically, but rarely did she allow him to best her mentally.

"At least for now," she said. "There is no guarantee the signet will hold permanently. We are but mortals, Melbu. We cannot defy Soa's will forever."

"I can."

Charle rolled her eyes, and moved toward her flowerbed. The man-eating roses slept fitfully, their purple-red petals closed against the night. She knew it annoyed her brother that she cared as much for plants as he did for control.

"People will ask, you know. About the moon," Charle said, patting one of the plants. It gurgled and appeared to smile, a row of pointed teeth visible beyond its lips.

Melbu blinked. "I'm aware. Tell them something believable. People are ignorant and stupid. They are inclined to believe what we tell them."

Charle sighed and said, "Very well."

Silence fell between the siblings. Kadessa's vivacious nightlife was unusually still tonight.

"Anyway, it's quite late," Melbu said finally. "I've much to do tomorrow."

He turned away and glanced at the sky's new moon. Despite the ugliness it contained, the thing was really quite beautiful. It sported an incandescence independent of the sun, sparkling with the turquoise magic that had placed it in the sky.

"Good night, Charle," Melbu said, and walked away, whistling.

Charle watched him go and shook her head as he poked a hand into his coat to stroke the sphere.

2


	2. Libertas (Freedom)

**Chapter One**

_Libertas_

It was hot. _Really_ hot.

I'd been wandering the endless dunes of the Death Frontier for what seemed like days but was probably months or vice versa. All I'd had to drink for that amount of time was tepid canteen water and shots of my own urine, in between gulping mouthfuls of sand during my sporadic episodes of hallucination; and that doesn't even account for the time I spent searching for a decent meal and having to eat my own socks instead because I _failed_. And all of this occurred while I was on the run from the law and for my life.

Not that any of it really mattered or bothered me, 'cause I was _free_.

Reveling in the magnitude of that one word was all I really did now, and really all I'd done a week ago, and months before that as well. Thinking and dreaming of freedom is all anyone does when they do not possess it. I know this because I am a member of a race that has been enslaved for so long, it has forgotten what freedom means; a race in chains for such a long while, its elders no longer have stories to share of a time when we were free. A race oppressed and discouraged from individual thought or action.

But rather than recite from the history books I wasn't permitted to read (which are incorrect anyway because they're decidedly biased), I think my own experience sufficiently illustrates the suffering of my people. It isn't enough to explain the whys and how's of the entire race, but it's a damn good account of the cruelty, the savagery, the utter terror and intimidation. The story begins with me: young, stupid and un-jaded, at the beginning of my service to that evil bastard. I would go back farther, but what would be the point? It's only a long tradition of more sorrow, heartache and damned bloody _injustices_ done to my people. The real story starts with me. … Anyway, it's a pretty good tale. And my escape from it all is the best part.

* * *

"Hey you! Diaz!"

It was the call of the royal emperor, Melbu Frahma … again. Dictator was more like it. Or royal pain-in-the-ass.

"_Diaz!"_

Or perhaps dill hole royale. … Yeah, that was good.

"DIAZ!"

I jerked my head up, nearly toppling the cart of fancy hors d'oeuvres before me.

"Coming, coming!" I pushed the cart forward down the hall.

I hated my name. Another stupid Wingly name added to the family. Hell, I bet none of them even remember their real names anymore … but mine was Diaz. My real one. Named for Frahma's grandfather or something, I think. Stupid name. Especially when screamed. It sounds extra stupid. But I guess I should have been thankful—at least according to my mother. It was an honor that His Royal Authority chose to name me after his own blood; it meant he favored me.

But that's just like the Winglies—they try to win you over with rainbows and promises and all sorts of fluff and then WHAMO! they jam a red-hot sword so far down your throat it sears your ass shut. I didn't trust 'em. None of them. Never had, never will, won't start trying now.

I wheeled the cart into the massive, overly decorated ballroom. Magical lamps lined the sparkling walls, where they gave off just enough light to make everything glow. Moonlight spilled through the skylight of the vaulted ceiling, and the Winglies present at the party were all talking and laughing amiably, fancy fruity drinks in hand.

As I entered, hands jabbed forward, snatching up the mini soufflés, dainty crust-less sandwiches and bowls of chocolate-covered berries. My cart was empty before I could make it to the display table. Incensed, I whirled on my heel to bring in another cart, and some lady Wingly in expensive silks and perfume and smelling of trying too hard, bent down and pressed her magenta lips to my cheek.

"Thanks, hon!" she chimed in some nasally accent I didn't recognize.

I sighed. There was really no avoiding it. They were going to do to you what they wanted and that was the end of it. I sauntered off, back to the kitchens, where several of my breed had whipped up another cart full of goodies.

"What's been going on up there?" Claudette asked, placing another set of mini quiches down. She pulled and poked at the plates and bowls, arranging them just so.

I folded my arms and leaned against the doorjamb, trying to look taller than I really was. Claudette was sorta cute. I'd always liked her.

"Nuthin' much. But they're all thick as thieves up there. Or pretending to be, anyway—" I stood up and popped a cheesecake bite into my mouth, chomping a few times thoughtfully before continuing. "—and they're all talking in hushed tones around Frahma like they're afraid of 'im."

"Aren't you afraid of him, Diaz?"

There was that stupid name again.

"No," I snapped. "He's a cross-eyed frog."

Claudette gave me a look, then turned back to the cart. She adjusted one of the plates again and I wished she would leave the cart alone and look at me instead, even if she was being condescending.

"Don't let them catch you eating the food," she whispered, bringing her baby-blues back to me. She looked earnest.

I shrugged.

"And don't say stuff like that around them. You know what they do to people who do."

I thought for a moment and shuddered.

"Point taken," I said and grabbed the goodies, heading back to the ballroom.

Claudette waved to me slowly and disappeared back into the kitchen before I'd turned the corner.

Once back in the midst of the party, I actually made it to the table with the tray this time, unloading my cargo and arranging it appealingly. It really didn't have to look good; they all ate it regardless because everyone knew Melbu Frahma kept the best for himself. I made sure my work looked all right, then stepped back and strode about the room, asking if anyone needed anything.

It wasn't the most glamorous of servant tasks, but it allowed me the privilege of information that would otherwise be denied me. It always baffled me that they spoke so frankly in front of us, but then again, when you sincerely believe in another species' utter stupidity, you tend to overlook their capacity for eavesdropping.

"He's done it again, I tell you!" one Wingly man exclaimed, brandishing his champagne glass.

Clearly, he was drunk.

"Done what?" snapped the man next to him, who was trying to look suave.

"Broadened our power, Fulton! Isn't it obvious?"

Fulton rolled his eyes. "That species wasn't a god. It was weak, meant to be destroyed," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"B, but, but … it wasn't _destroyed_, Fulton, it was sealed off! Frahma only controls its—"

"You bore me, Nylan. That new moon in the sky grants only a limited amount of power. Even Frahma has limits. Charles's his boss."

Nylan jumped upright. "We'll just see."

"Hm, indeed." Fulton shoved away from the cocktail stand and strode off.

I moved on, wondering what he meant by "new moon" …

I listened in on a conversation between a pair of female Winglies across the room, but when I realized they were only talking about Charle Frahma's latest dress, I moved on again. I paused by the windows in the corner, trying to look occupied with something interesting outside while also appearing remotely available. It's a hard look to master, believe me, but years of practice enable me to pull it off. I listened as a pair of Winglies sauntered by.

"Have you heard the rumors of the uprisings in the valley?" the woman asked, her voice hushed.

Her male companion shook his head. "No, why?"

She shrugged her delicate shoulders, which conveniently sat above the not-so-delicate curve of her breast, all of it revealed by her extremely low-cut gown.

"No reason, I guess," she said, taking a sip of punch, "but I've heard some talk about it. The Humans are becoming _antsy_ … ever since the Frahmas sealed off Soa's plan for destruction."

"Why would that have anything to do with _them_?"

"Worried about power, of course. I never believed they'd stay placid so long …"

The woman's voice grew wistful and she drained the last of her punch. Noticing me nearby, she cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, servant? My glass is empty. I'd like it full."

I turned at her request and walked off with the glass, praying to Soa that I wouldn't miss the best part of the conversation. Obviously, they were discussing something ridiculously important and even more interesting.

But to my dismay when I returned with the full punch glass, the Wingly woman only flashed me a toothy grin and she and her partner walked off. I'd missed probably the best conversation I would hear all night, but what I had heard somehow changed me. I can't quite say how, because I wasn't sure. But it changed me, woke me up, lit my soul on fire … oh hell, I dunno.

When the gala finally drew to a close and the guests had gotten their fill of rubbing elbows, I began the long process of cleaning up with the help of a few other servants. But just as I stooped to scrub the ornate rug where a cheesecake bite had been ground into it, a heavy, firm hand fell on my shoulder, giving just enough of a squeeze to get my attention. I looked up, into the face of none other than Melbu Frahma.

I dropped the glass I was holding. Thankfully, it bounced on the carpet and rolled away.

"Sir?" was all I could manage to say.

"I prefer 'Your Excellency,' but I can excuse the error this time."

I swallowed. "Uh huh …"

Frahma's face twisted into what I guess was supposed to be a smile. "Come, Diaz," he said. "Follow me to my quarters. I must discuss something with you."

I stood, brushing the crumbs off my knees and followed the Wingly leader out of the ballroom and into the halls beyond.

_Oh no!_ I thought. _He knows about the comment I made! I'm a goner for sure! … Or should I just admit it? Maybe he'll have mercy on me and I'll only get sent to prison …_

The walk seemed to take forever—up staircases, around corners, down corridors, through doors—I would have gotten lost easily, had I not known exactly where we were headed. Maybe it took so long because I had the chance to replay my own death several times in my head before the final judgment.

When we finally reached his quarters, Melbu Frahma flung open the fashionable double doors to the sitting room and invited me inside, closing the doors behind us. I stood there, trembling like a leaf while he puttered about, preparing himself a stiff drink. He sunk onto the couch and motioned for me to sit across from him.

I tried to compose myself but it didn't really work, so I just sighed and fixed my gaze on the decoration at the top of Frahma's boots.

He took a swallow of his drink, set it on the coffee table and leaned back, lacing his fingers and resting his arms at his sides.

_Here it comes_, I thought and the trembling started all over again.

"Diaz, you and your family know I am quite fair to my servants—"

_If you call enslavement fair at all, yeah …_, I thought.

"—and I prefer to treat them well and allow them to have some degree of choice …"

_And their choice involves you holding them down and forcing them to make the right one …_

"I am a just man, a man of my word, provided I am not crossed with ill-intention or dissent …"

_And you torture and put to death those who do cross you. Yeah, let's get on with it._

"… I have found you and your family members to be some of my most faithful, trustworthy servants. I value you, very much."

'_But I must admit, Diaz, you are the worst of the batch.'_

"And Diaz, you are the cream of the crop."

_I sentence you to … huh?_

I must've looked dumbfounded or something close to it. Frahma smiled weirdly again.

"Oh no, I know what you're thinking," he said coolly. "I'm not going to punish you for anything, though I disagree with the frog comment. I think I rather resemble an eagle."

My eyes went wide. _How did he …?_

"Anyway, I've invited you here to say that I have a job for you, if you're interested."

I blinked, still stupefied … about all of it.

"I'd understand if you didn't want to—"

Frahma picked up his glass and swished the ice around a bit. I knew what he was considering; he wouldn't understand. He'd blow you to smithereens if you didn't acquiesce.

"—but I'd love for you to come be my personal manservant. What do you say, Diaz?"

I blinked again, probably looking a bit like the Humans they envisioned us to be. The awkward, drooling buffoons who didn't know how to use a spoon properly without Wingly assistance.

"Well? It's a pretty good deal, if I do say so." Frahma leaned forward, placing his bony forearms on his equally bony knees, his hooked beak of a nose strung out over the coffee table like a baited line I was supposed to bite. He did look sort of like an eagle, and he could probably smell my fear like one, too.

I looked up, into his eyes. He raised his brows, that odd grin still plastered all over his face. I wanted to say no; punch him right in that hooked honker of his … but I didn't. I wanted to get up and run like hell … but I didn't. I couldn't. My stupid ass sat right there, looked him straight in the eye and said, "Okay," because it was the only thing I _could_ do. He had my hands tied and there wasn't an inch of rope in fifty yards around.

* * *

Two weeks later, my personal items and living space had been transferred from the lower floors of the palace to a small closet just off Melbu Frahma's own quarters. The transition from butler to monkey boy wasn't really much of a change; to some it shouldn't have been a change and to others it probably seemed like a kick in the balls rather than a promotion, but I didn't see it either way. The closer I was to Melbu Frahma's good side, the more of a chance I had at staying alive, and that's the way I wanted to keep it.

My new duties were little different than the old ones, and they were easier, if anything. My position still afforded me the luxury of hearing important Wingly conversations, and being near Frahma all the time meant interesting things happened often. Most of all, though, my job gave me the opportunity to leave the palace, visit my new places and meet new people.

My family—mother, father, sister and all the ancestors—had been serving the Frahma clan for as long as anyone could remember. My father, Junas, was the head Guard of the Gate, watching the gates to the palace for as long as I'd been alive. My mother, Sorla, was Charle Frahma's ladies' maid, but had at first served in the kitchen. My younger sister Anais was married to Melbu Frahma's head bodyguard, Jessup, and she was some servant for Urele, Melbu Frahma's daughter. So they all thought it was peachy keen that I'd been offered the job of footman to the most powerful and influential man in all of Endiness. I wasn't so tickled, but like I said, I felt better alive than I probably would dead.

I've never been much of a hit with the ladies (Soa only knows _why_), so it became a huge pain in the ass when thirty summers of my life had come and gone and everyone was wondering why I still hadn't settled down with a lady friend. Now, slaves weren't really allowed to pick their mates unless they had unusually kind masters, were unusually favored, or asked for permission. I, unfortunately, fell in the last group. Don't get me wrong; I probably could've been included in the second category too, but the match Frahma would have pegged on me made me want to scream ... or puke.

Unfortunately, the one girl I actually liked and wouldn't have minded marrying was stuck in that god-awful hell of a kitchen and never would be considered a suitable mate for me, a supposed "favorite." But hell, I figured I'd give it a shot, and I gathered up my resolve to ask.

It was a relatively average afternoon; Frahma was looking through massive piles of documents at his desk (pardons, various licenses and execution notices, probably). I approached with caution, unsure if he would explode with rage or turn around calmly (it was about a fifty-fifty chance with either of them).

"E,excuse me, Your Excellency? I, I have a request ..."

To my relief, the Wingly dictator shot me a glance over his shoulder, snorted and turned.

"What is it, Diaz? Can't you see I'm a little busy?"

"Oh yes, I do, Sir, but ... I wanted to ask your permission."

Frahma frowned. "My permission? For what?"

"To be married, Your Authority, Sir."

He paused for a moment, turning the idea over in his egg-like head. Then, he said, "And who would you prefer to marry? I'm assuming you have to ask because it's not the match I chose for you."

I shuddered again at the thought of Lorena. "It's ... it's Claudette. From the kitchen."

Frahma sank back to think again. "Hmmm ... she the blonde one?"

I nodded sheepishly.

"Well, you know it would really be breaking with tradition, Diaz—" The Wingly stood, stretched his arms above his head and turned to face me. "—It's unorthodox for a highly prized slave like you to be mated with such a ... a ..." He struggled to find the word.

"Commodity? Ruffian? Filth?"

Frahma waved his hand and nodded. "You get the point. But I suppose if it's what you want, I can afford to sacrifice my reputation a bit for you to be happy—"

I grinned.

"—however, know that I have bigger plans for you, and you shall _still_ submit to my will."

My grin leapt from my face, but somehow, his threat didn't scare me all that much. I was going to be married ... and to the girl I wanted more than anyone else.

A month later, Claudette and I were married. It had been a simple ceremony, as they always were, though we had a ton of guests and quite luxurious food, thanks to the kitchen. Claudette's belongings were moved upstairs with mine, and Frahma moved our quarters to a bigger closet just down the hall. It was enough to fit a small mattress, our clothes, some personal items and still have enough room to move around a little. Frahma had even provided us with a small bureau.

The wedding night was awkward and average, as probably all wedding nights are, but it wasn't long before Claudette wound up pregnant. Life went on; she gave birth and it was a little girl we named Libria, but whom they called Beatta. Life went on some more; Claudette got a promotion of her own and we had a boy we named Fitzhugh, but whom they dubbed Tamaran.

Everything was all sparkles and rainbows and promising, so it was right around this time that another change occurred, and not one any of us liked. But more on that later.

One of my duties, in addition to tending the dictator hand and foot, included keeping the library neat and organized, and I was given several quite lengthy opportunities to explore the place and its vast sources of Wingly knowledge. Of course, I had to be familiar with the resources anyway, in case Frahma asked for a piece of reading material; I was quite adept at finding the requested book and returning with it in a short amount of time. But it was in this way that I learned some things I probably shouldn't have. I spent a great deal of time in the palace library, pretending to label and dust and reorganize the materials, but really I was climbing the towering ladders again and again, sneaking books to my quarters and returning them before they were missed.

My favorite part of that library was a scarcely-touched corner of the far west end; a dusty old section filled with countless accounts of the past. I was surprised to have even come upon them at all, since so much of the other source material, including history books, referenced Humans as "dull, dim-witted creatures whom Soa intended to be mastered by other species."

In fact, most Wingly sourcebooks, as I later discovered, had essentially re-written history to glorify them and their flying ancestors, putting to rest free thought. One encyclopedia article described the beginning of the world like this:

_The Great Creator Soa, commissioned by God to bring forth Creation, sowed a seed which grew into a great tree. This 'Divine Tree,' brought forth from its branches the species of the earth, with the greatest of them being Winglies, the 107__th__ fruit. Drawing their magic power from the life source of the Divine Tree, the Winglies dominated all, as they had been given the most intelligence and free will. The Archangel, it is said, descended to the earth to bestow on the Winglies access to all of Soa's Creation and command over all. And so it is written, that Winglies came to dominate the world as the primary and supreme species._

Now, the encyclopedia article wasn't all wrong; everything up to that Archangel part was fairly correct, with the exception of the Winglies having the most intelligence, but the source materials I'd found in this particular corner of the library brought forth information that basically decried the 'Wingly supremacy' bit a bunch of bullshit. Those books contained story after story and accounts by the thousands of Humans as equals to Winglies in the eyes of Soa; that he'd created them as allies—one to rule the ground (i.e. Humans) and the other to rule the skies (Winglies.)

Worse, the books told endless tales of the days following the Creation, when Humans had lived a free existence as simple herders and farmers. While the Winglies were busy building their colossal floating cities, Humans lived peacefully on the ground below. That is, until they were cruelly enslaved by the Winglies, who'd met little resistance in the Humans in the wake of their immense magical power.

While these books gave me hope for the future of the world, I knew I had to keep my discovery a secret. Who knew why the Winglies had allowed such material to survive to posterity—those books were probably the only copies of their kind left in existence. But what they all failed to understand was that teaching me to read spelled bad news for them. I'd been taught—like my family and others who worked for the royal family—to read and write and do simple arithmetic in order to be of some use as clerks or nannies or sometimes as governors. We were groomed, privileged.

Unfortunately, as it always did, my intelligence and big mouth got me into trouble.

But before I get to that, and long before any desire to run away or rebel ever entered my mind, I met someone on one of the occasions I accompanied Melbu Frahma on an excursion. I would argue it was Fate, though I'm sure neither of us was aware of it at the time, but it changed my life. And, for all intents and purposes, probably everyone else's too.

I suppose I'd always assumed that other Human slaves had just accepted their status as perpetual servants to our winged overlords. My mother and father, my sister, Claudette, just about everyone I knew was settled into their life as a slave, largely because none of them knew better or at least any different. Most of us had been born into slavery, and couldn't remember a time of freedom. So my entire world view was turned upon its head when I met Zieg.

* * *

I was probably thirty-eight or so at the time; he was just a kid, no older than twenty but probably closer to fifteen or sixteen. He wore the armor of a guardsman and carried a broadsword much too big for him, though he looked like he had the potential to be quite tall. He possessed the awkward assurance of adolescence, and carried himself well, despite the gangly length of his arms and legs. His hair was short in front and slicked back across the crown and above the ears in the style of the military. And he had a _last name_, for Soa's sake. A family moniker, something no slave possessed. Zieg Feld was new and interesting to me.

"Set down over there, by those shops."

Our party had been traveling for several days, on foot because Mirr was the only Wingly city constructed on the ground due to its purpose. The bastards couldn't determine which souls were allowed to live without first allowing all species to reach that temple of false security and broken hope. Besides, His Royal Authority, king of cowards, refused to travel the same way twice and required at least two guards by his side at any given time.

Frahma stepped down from the sedan chair, arranging his robes of state.

_Preening again_, I thought. _Maybe eagle does fit him better than frog …_

Immediately the crowd nearby scattered, making way for His Hiney-Ass.

"You can all wait in the city," Frahma snapped, glancing at the chair-carriers. "I've got some things to attend to in the Tower." Frahma turned to the two body guards he'd brought along. "Jessup, Rylan … Come."

The two burly, armored men stepped forward, drawing their swords. Frahma led the party off but paused and turned after only a few steps.

"Diaz?" he said.

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

"Keep an eye on these fools." The dictator waved an arm, indicating the members of the advance guard.

I nodded, surprised that he hadn't asked me to come with him and even more shocked that he had placed me 'in charge' while he was away.

"Yes, Sir!" I replied, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Frahma nodded, and he and the guards sauntered off. A couple of the chair-carriers glared at me, then flopped onto the ground and pulled cigarettes out of their pockets, lighting them and taking long, grateful puffs. Flavius and Kallan, the other two advance guards, stood to the side, chatting quietly. I knew them. They were two of the usuals on Frahma's advance guard team, with Flavius being the commander. The third party member was frequently switched out, depending how well he did in battle.

"That Zieg kid's pretty good," Kallan remarked, rubbing his stubbly chin.

Flavius nodded. "Yeah. Trained under Aslow."

"Where'd he come from, anyhow?"

"Dunno." Flavius shrugged. "Aslow dragged him in one day. Looked pretty scruffy. A street urchin … ruffian, I guess."

"He lookin' to move up to the higher ranks?"

Again, Flavius shrugged. "Dunno … he's good 'nough, though."

"Yeah."

I'd talked to Jessup before during a visit with Anais, and he'd informed me that one had to be quite skilled and experienced in battle to become a body guard for any of the high-ranking Winglies, let alone Melbu Frahma. And passing the rigorous test following the training certainly wasn't easy either. But I'd seen this Zieg kid in battle on the route to Mirr. The guardsmen had warded off a couple moss-dressers in the forest and battled a particularly nasty flying rat, and Kallan was right. Zieg _was_ good. It was like he wasn't afraid of anything.

Now, he sat on the flagstones of Mirr's sparkling streets, his chin in his hands. He stared out at the city. I'd been there before and already marveled in its beauty once, but perhaps he was a first timer. I walked over and plopped down next to him.

"Good looking city, huh?" I said.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at me. Something flickered in his eyes, like he was shocked someone was talking to him. But he didn't say anything. He merely regarded me for a moment and then turned away again.

_Not talkative, huh?_ I thought. _Hmm …_

"So … you, uh, been here before?" I asked.

"I was born here."

His voice was low-pitched and slightly raspy, like he hadn't used it for a long time. But he spoke firmly and I almost considered moving away and ceasing the conversation altogether. I'm sure that was his intention, so I didn't. Mysterious things get to me, and I was already way beyond knee deep in interest.

"Well, everyone's born here," I said. "Where else do you hail from?"

Zieg shot me a deadly look. I thought for a moment that he would break his posture and throttle me. But he didn't so I went on.

"Personally, I was born and raised in Kadessa. But it's so nice here. I would've liked to grow up—"

"Why are you talking to me?" Zieg snapped, turning to face me. "I have nothing to say to you."

Now I could hear the boyishness in his voice. A squeaking tone that told the world its owner was old enough to reproduce but not quite old enough to say anything worth listening to.

"Well I'm certainly not going to speak to those bastards!" I cried indignantly, motioning at a group of Winglies minding their own business by an ice cream shop.

"Don't you have friends to talk to? Family?" Zieg narrowed his eyes. His tone was vicious.

I stared at him. "Well, I—"

"Figures," he spat.

"It figures what? That I'm wealthy? Privileged? Better off than you?"

Zieg climbed to his feet, revealing an agility I could never hope to imitate. He drew his broadsword with lightning-like speed. I felt my blood rising to its boiling point, and I fought to keep my temper down, but Zieg swung his sword and I ducked just enough to prevent him from lopping my head off.

Quickly I launched to my feet, straightening my posture to match his height, but I came up short, as I so often do. So I just held my hands up in front of me, hoping he would cease and desist. The others were starting to watch with raised eyebrows.

"FELD!" Flavius screamed. "Put that away! Are you trying to get us all sent to Mayfil?!"

Zieg jumped to attention, facing his superior officer. He scowled, saluted and sheathed the sword, then collapsed back into position on the curb. I sat back down as well, refusing to give up,

and he sighed heavily.

"So, you have a last name," I said. "You weren't born a slave, were you?"

Zieg sent me a nasty look and dropped his chin into his palms. "Nope."

"How'd you get yourself into this mess, then?"

Zieg sighed again. "Why are you so curious? Got a crush on me or something?"

"Would you rather I had asked you your sign?" I quipped.

Zieg snorted. "It's fire, if you care."

"Now see? You're lucky. I was born non-elemental. Good. We're making progress. Now tell me how you got yourself sold into slavery."

Zieg turned to face me again and shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?" he asked, almost laughing.

I smiled back. "Nope."

Zieg rolled his eyes and shoved his head back into his hands. I picked up a pebble and skipped it across the shimmering slate flagstones. It clacked along for a good thirty feet and spun out near an aged Wingly standing by an expensive-looking store. He looked up and frowned. I turned quickly and pretended not to notice him.

"Bet it's a bitch walking across those in the rain with those hobnailed boots you guys wear," I offered, turning back to Zieg.

He shrugged.

"So where'd you come from? Why are you a slave when you have a freaking _last name_?"

"Being a guardsman isn't slavery," Zieg retorted, closing his eyes. "We're hired out for money."

"Do any of you ever see that gold?"

"No …"

"Then it's slavery. You're too young to be this jaded."

"I'm sixteen!" Zieg protested.

"Too young. I'm thirty-eight with two kids, a wife and an evil dictator master I gotta worry about, and I still don't have a face nearly as long as yours. What's bothering you, kid?"

Zieg ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and then cracked his knuckles. I waited patiently for him to finish. Finally, he sighed and turned to me.

"You're a royal slave," he said shortly. "You wouldn't understand."

I frowned. Not this argument again. It was a serious mistake to tell any slave that he or she was more or less privileged than another.

"Excuse me, but we're all in the same boat," I fired back. "You think I wouldn't sell my soul to the Devildom to get myself and my family out of it?!"

Zieg just stared at me.

"Well I would." I kicked at another rock with the toe of my boot. "I'd do it twenty times over."

"Well I'd sell my soul to have my family back at all," Zieg mumbled.

I looked up. "What happened to them?"

Zieg picked at a fingernail. "Murdered. They needed the space for expansion outside Mirr. We lived on the outskirts, and they just came in and burned the whole damned block down."

Humbled, I stared at my feet. "I, I'm sorry …"

"But I got out," Zieg went on. "Sometimes I wish I wouldn't have. I wish my little brother or older sister was here, in my place. After it happened, I cursed Soa, Fate and anyone else I could blame for the tragedy. But I guess Fate got back at me, because here I am, working for the very bastards who burned down my home and wiped out my family." He looked at me. "Ironic, isn't it?"

'Shit happens' was all I could think to say, so I just kept quiet. I would've put a friendly arm around the kid's shoulders, but I avoided that too, in case Zieg felt the need to chop my head off again. I felt bad for him; he'd really had it rough. Worse than me. Worse than Claudette. I was about to say something witty to cheer him up when I heard the whistle for us to form up. Melbu Frahma was striding toward us, Jessup and Rylan close behind him.

I stood and held out my hand. Zieg stared at it for a moment, then took it and I pulled him to his feet. Keeping my grip on him, I jerked him forward. He probably thought for a moment I was pulling him in to kiss him and resisted at first, but I yanked harder, keeping an eye on Frahma.

Standing on tiptoe and leaning my head over his shoulder, I whispered, "I'll find us a way out of this. Trust me. … Nice to meet you, Zieg."

I stepped back, leaving the poor kid to gather his bearings and get back into position. And as soon as Frahma and I were nestled back in the sedan chair, our party exited the gates of Mirr, headed back in the direction of Kadessa.

"You all behaved yourselves, I hope," Frahma said, flicking through a pamphlet.

"Of course, Your Authority, Sir."

"Good." He turned to me, a wicked grin on his face. "And I've got a surprise for you when we get home, Diaz."

I tried to smile, but it probably came out as more of a grimace. If I had known at the time what was going to befall me, I really would have grimaced … and on purpose, too.

* * *

"_Excuse_ me?"

Melbu Frahma raised his brows benevolently but his eyes flashed with murderous intent.

"Are you contesting me, Diaz? This isn't a request; it's an _order_."

"B, but you said you like to give your servants some freedom of choice!"

"That was before I decided that your children are superbly useful."

I stared at him blankly. Claudette stood behind me, quietly supporting me and bravely bearing the burden of whatever Melbu Frahma thought to throw at us.

Frahma was grinning maliciously, like he thought it was funny that he'd just ruined any happiness I once possessed. Hell, he probably _did_ find it funny …

Claudette approached me, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and planted a small kiss on the back of my neck.

"Do as he says, dear," she whispered, quivering.

I felt bad. Again. But it was my job, my duty, and ultimately, I knew I had no choice. My decisions mattered to Melbu Frahma like blades of grass mattered in the path of a typhoon.

I turned my head to Claudette but kept an eye trained on Frahma. "I am so, _so_—"

She placed a finger across my lips. "Shh … It's what you must do. Besides, I wouldn't mind being a surrogate if—"

"Oh, there will be no surrogates under my care, madam," Frahma quipped. Evidently he had supersonic hearing.

Claudette turned her watery blue eyes to the dictator. His sunken face was serious again.

"Very well, Master," she said, curtsying, but I saw the hurt in her eyes. She flashed me a look that tied my guts in knots, and fled the room.

I took a deep breath and braced myself.

"How very romantic," Frahma cooed.

_Like you would know_, I thought. _You probably killed your own wife…_

"I'm sorry, Diaz, but this must be done." Frahma laced his hands together behind his back, as if he were hiding something. I gritted my teeth and frowned.

"You gave your wife two very lovely children, and now you must give some to me," he continued. "The women will be hand-picked by me, so you need not worry about finding any yourself."

_Not like I could. It's a miracle Claudette agreed to have me._

"I will determine the place and time of any interactions, and the women will report to me regarding the status of their condition."

_Oh yes, far be it for you to let anything be outside your immediate control._

"… And all interactions will take place under my supervision."

"What?!"

Frahma's wicked smile returned.

Outraged, I felt like leaping forward, wrapping my hands around his scrawny neck and strangling the life out of him, but I remained glued to the floor through sheer force of will.

"So I get to be the star in your sick, personal pornography?!" I cried. "_No!" _It was one thing to request another "duty" of me, but this?—It was quickly driving me to the end of my rope.

"Hm. Remember what we discussed, Diaz," Frahma replied, coldly. "This is not a request."

"But I don't want to have to do it while you watch!" It was all I could do to keep my voice under control.

"Come, come. Why the modesty? You Humans are all so private. Winglies partake in the act of copulation for pleasure as well, and often in the open. It's a simple fact of biology."

I'd heard about the ridiculous orgies and risqué parties in which Winglies indulged. Nauseating, colorful stories of sodomy and ménages a trois flashed through my mind. No doubt Frahma had hosted them before and even participated in the fun.

I shook the thoughts away and stomped my foot.

"But that's not the way Soa intended it!" I blurted.

"And how can you be so certain?" Frahma's eyes twinkled maliciously, his tone venomous.

"I, I …"

"I thought so."

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts, but all that flashed before my eyes and ran through my brain was rage.

"You Winglies are dirty creatures," I hissed.

"Excuse me?" Melbu Frahma turned to me, his eyes wide like he had never dreamed such a thing would ever leave my lips.

"You heard me."

Frahma's mouth turned downward in an ugly sneer, and he ran to the cane rack by the door. I knew what was coming. It would be my first one; the first of many more to come, and I didn't care. I was going to stand firm.

Frahma returned, carrying a frightening piece of torture equipment: a leather whip, its end split into a tassel of many painful strands. The ends were fraying, damaged from obvious use.

"Bend down!" Frahma roared.

I dropped to my knees.

Frahma reached down and ripped the shirt right off my back. He reared back and struck.

White-hot pain ripped down the right side of my back. It felt like someone had seared my flesh with a fireplace wood poker. I wanted to scream, cry out, beg for mercy, but I didn't. For once in my life, I didn't give in. I took a second blow, and my knees buckled. I fell forward onto my hands, but I stayed put. Frahma roared in rage like an animal, and brought the whip forward, striking me with all his might.

My arms quivered under my own weight, my brain forcing them to withstand the pain and keep me upright.

"You WILL obey me!" he screamed through gritted teeth. "You WILL do as I say! Filthy, dirty Human!"

Again and again he struck, bringing the tassels against my skin and creating hundreds of raised ridges over my back. Blood trickled down my sides in streams. My body screamed in agony, but my brain said otherwise.

_Stand firm, Diaz_, it shouted. _Stand firm for what you believe!_

"Winglies are your rulers! Winglies are your rulers!" Frahma chanted, his speed slowing as he grew tired of swinging the whip. "We are your masters! You bow to us! We're smarter, better…"

Eventually, my body gave way before my mind, and I collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathing

heavily. Blood spattered the carpet around me and trickled from my mouth, where I'd been biting my tongue.

"There," Frahma breathed, triumphantly. "That'll teach you to cross me."

He made his way around my motionless body so he could look me in the face, the sound of his boots reverberating through my aching limbs. I looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. He only scowled back.

"You will meet me tomorrow outside this room at ten o'clock in the morning. And you _will_ engage in intercourse with those women tomorrow to beget children under my supervision. Understood?"

"Yes," I chirped. Pain rocketed through my body as I spoke. "Ugh …"

"I'll get your wife," Frahma snapped. "She can come in and clean you up. I expect it to be finished in fifteen minutes, at which time I will return. If it's not done, the both of you will receive an even harsher punishment than I've demonstrated here."

And he stomped off.

Claudette ran into the room only moments later, crying and shouting, "Baby, what happened? What did he do to you?"

I didn't bother to respond. I was too weak, too exhausted and dejected. I had been broken.

_So this is what it feels like …_

Claudette hurried to clean me up and move me out of the room, and once I was settled back in our bed in our quarters, she hurried to clean up the mess back in Frahma's. I wanted to sink into sleep, but it resisted my advances. So I lay awake, rehashing the beating throughout the night, even after Claudette came to bed, worn out and sad.

_Be strong,_ I kept telling myself. _Be strong._

But my strength had hardly returned by dawn.

So, the following morning, as _ordered_ and with an impressive collection of brand new slash marks down my back, I showed up at the door of Frahma's quarters. He emerged only moments after I arrived.

"You know it pained me to have to do that last night, Diaz," he said calmly, turning to lock his door. "It's something I had hoped never to do."

_I'm sure_, I thought bitterly.

But outwardly, I said, "Quite all right, Your Excellency. It's a new day."

"That's my boy, Diaz!" He cleared his throat and started down the hallway, motioning for me to follow.

We made our way down the Grand Staircase to the teleporter device, where Frahma set the destination as Mirr, and off we sped to the wintry northern regions of Endiness.

Once inside the Genesis Tower, we checked in with the desk clerk and headed upstairs to a laboratory off the second floor. The room jutted out into the air like some crazy, floating glass orb, the windows sparkling with magic. Soundproof cubicles containing beds lined two of the walls, and technicians in white lab coats scurried about, carrying racks of test tubes, balled up laundry and several things I didn't recognize.

All of the Winglies stopped moving when Frahma and I entered, and they all bowed, curtsied or saluted him.

"My male servant, Diaz, has arrived!" Frahma boomed. "Prepare the first female!"

The Winglies all turned to ogle at me, and I suddenly remembered what it was like to be a teenager with a hovering parent. I nearly died of embarrassment, but before I could protest, the Winglies had whisked me away and dragged me into an exam room where my every body part was measured, squeezed, poked and strapped to something scary-looking. But in the end, I emerged unscathed, and began to prepare myself for the real tests …

It was awkward. _Way_ awkward. You can't breed creatures who possess emotions and intelligence and free will. Such creatures aren't like dogs, or Runners, or even dragons, which breed during season and possess no scruples about unintended observation.

I'd just stood there for several painful moments, my hand vainly attempting to preserve what little modesty I still possessed. The woman, Jenna, and I had introduced ourselves outside the room, before either of us had ever removed a stitch of clothing.

She was nice. Good-looking. Probably no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Tall and curvy, with wavy dark hair and eyelashes so long they nearly curled back to touch her eyebrows.

"You got a husband?" I asked. I hadn't meant to ask such a personal question, but it popped out in reference to my own sad state of affairs.

"Yeah," she replied. "He works in the Coliseum, scrubbing it clean after the matches."

"So … why is Frahma breeding you?" I couldn't bear to add the 'to me' part.

Jenna shrugged. "Not sure. Mica and I have children. A little girl. She's beautiful."

"I bet …"

Now, she was sitting on the bed, the sheet pulled to her waist and an arm across her breast.

Frahma had said, "Commence" several times through the two-way intercom, but still, I stood there. I could tell he was getting frustrated, but how, exactly, was I supposed to do this? Just start going at it like an animal? Spend a little time romancing her?

"Commence," Frahma insisted again, his voice firm and cold.

_Well at least something's firm_, I thought, and by the way Jenna was looking at me, she was evidently thinking the same thing.

Then, she rolled her eyes and motioned me toward her. I sat on the bed. She leaned in close and whispered, "Here, we'll pull the sheets up. If he wants porn, we'll make it soft-core."

I smiled. At least she could joke about it.

And with that, I'd tried to put modesty out of my head and stopped imagining the pressure of Frahma's eyes on my back. Somehow, I'd found my mojo and managed to finish, and Jenna had done me right by moaning, giggling and generally acting like she loved it. I bet that stupid bastard got his rocks off listening to that performance.

The second woman wasn't quite as easy to deal with. She was utterly silent, had barely told me her name (it was Celina), and she wasn't nearly as attractive as Jenna. We got it over with, and I was on to the next one. Marissa, Rochelle, Sabine, Eloise … they were all a blur. And I went home, exhausted and in dire need of a lower back massage and leg rub.

Claudette had refused to speak to me the first night I came home, scented with the pungent cologne of sexual encounters. Even after bathing twice, she scrunched up her nose at the sight of me. She was probably only imagining a lingering smell, but it broke my heart just the same.

Eventually, it became easier … for me, at least. Modesty gradually evaporated, replaced by brazen frankness, which even Claudette began to notice at home. It was ugly. It was distasteful. But I didn't have a choice. Most men would have jumped at the chance to cheat on their wives without remorse or guilt, but not me. It felt just as dirty as if I had gone out cheating every day; Claudette still looked at me with love in her eyes, but now it was a pitying love. A distrustful love.

Many moons passed, and I received word that the first batch had turned up at Mirr, all of them healthy and happy. Three boys and five girls, one set of twins. I was permitted time to visit each of them and help the mothers decide on names. I didn't necessarily find it right or appropriate, because most of them had domestic fathers as well, but I did it because it was asked of me. So Rayvine, Wymina, Timander, Sage, Bree, Bono, Layana, and Cryton became a part of my family, but not of Claudette's.

Pleased, Frahma increased my schedule to four times a week and began talking me up to his slave-owning underlings. I had suddenly become some kind of freakish Human stallion, hired out to breed beautiful, useful servants.

The only time after the first few where it hadn't been so cut-and-dried was sometime around my thirty-ninth birthday. I'd been forced to celebrate with a comely young woman, who possessed mile-long legs and a shock of curly blonde hair. Her blue eyes had sparkled in the light when we'd met and I was suddenly reminded of my beautiful Claudette, sitting at home, knowing her husband was out knocking boots with a hundred other women 'cause he was forced to.

"I'm Clara," the girl had said, holding out a long, thin hand.

I'd taken it, and said, "You look so familiar. Do you know Claudette?"

The girl only smiled. "I'm her little sister."

My heart had just about fallen out my ass.

Knowing that my fate as a living man rested on having sex with Clara, I had simply shaken my head and done my duty. Poor Claudette. Her pretty little niece, Sharyn, was really her own children's half-sister.

* * *

Things returned to normal in my life, or at least as normal as they could be for a man whose job it was to plant his seed in fertile young women on a daily basis. I probably had the healthiest prostate gland the world's ever seen.

Encouraged by my apparent obedience, Frahma promoted me to personal clerk, and dubbed my son Tamaran, now fourteen, his new footman. Little did he know, I was still reading what he deemed "political garbage" in the library, and convincing my children to read what I brought home as well. Claudette disapproved, but it didn't matter. My life had gone to hell in a hand basket, and suddenly the risks associated with striving for freedom no longer seemed so deplorable.

It was nearing my forty-first birthday when Melbu Frahma's mean streak cropped up again. I'd been going about my duty, as ordered, and women all across Endiness had borne nearly a hundred children by me. Claudette had once joked that I was creating my own little army. Looking back, I marvel at how right she was … but I digress.

In the latest bunch of babies, born four years after my first ones, three had slipped past the watchful eye of the Committee on Birth at Mirr. These select Winglies, under direction from Melbu Frahma, determined which babies would be permitted to live after birth, or indeed, which infants would even survive to birth at all. Of these three particular infants, all born under the thunder elemental sign, one came out with a deformed leg, another entered the world blind, and the last, the poor dear, was stillborn.

An intelligent being might have blamed at least part of the issue on my increasing age, if they would've blamed it on me at all. I tried to explain to the dictator that he needed to examine his Birth Committee, but he wouldn't have it. Ah well.

Frahma went above and beyond, his paranoid side getting the better of him. Without thought, he deemed the babies' disabilities my fault, and so we wound up in the center of Town Square in Mirr, Frahma standing in the middle of the square, surrounded by the mothers of the latest batch of servant children … and me.

Soa bless them, my kids with Claudette were now old enough to realize what was going on. Tamaran, still reveling in his role as Frahma's manservant, had recently turned fifteen, and Beatta, so pretty now and attracting all sorts of attention from boys, was seventeen. They knew they possessed a hundred or more half-siblings. They knew their dad's primary job was to screw countless women in the hopes it would beget new and better servants for His Royal Authority, Melbu Frahma. They knew the whole, sad charade was slowly driving a wedge between their parents.

Tamaran had accompanied Frahma to the Birth City, as I had, but his sister and mother had even come along, certain something bad was about to happen. I guess they thought I would need the moral support.

So there we were, all standing around in a big circle, Frahma deeming himself ring master.

"DIAZ!" he boomed.

I crept forward sheepishly, facing him with all those people watching. He clapped a gnarled hand on my shoulder and handed me his staff. It's probably when I learned to hate the thing. Not only was it a symbol of his all-encompassing power, it radiated magic so sickeningly powerful it made my stomach turn inward on itself.

I just stood there, staring at the staff, wondering why on earth Frahma had given it to me. I suppose I knew, deep down, what was coming, what he would have me do. I toyed with the notion of killing Frahma, right then and there. I had the will, the power to do so now. It would be quick and easy. He wouldn't feel anything, and I'd be free. … Or would I?

_No,_ I thought. _No, you wouldn't. Thayus will take over and throw you in prison, or better yet, behead you in front of everyone._

I looked up at the Wingly dictator, but Frahma had other things to attend to; he called forth the mothers who had recently given birth to a child of mine. Slowly, they marched forward, some carrying the infants, others leading by the hand the ones who were just learning to walk. All of them trembled with fear, for both their children's lives and their own.

I swallowed hard and tried to mentally apologize to each of them.

"I am doing this to set an example for the rest of you," Frahma said, his voice echoing over the strangely silent courtyard. "This is what happens to you when you attempt to subjugate me."

Frahma turned and stormed back toward me. He held out a hand, waving it around in a symbolic pattern, and I felt the power in the staff grow deadly. It shook me, body and soul, and I struggled to contain it. It wanted death. Murder. Genocide.

"Diaz!" Frahma shouted. "Swing the staff! Rid the earth of the scum you've bred into it!"

I continued to stare at the staff. It jumped to life in my hands, begging to be swung. I gripped the thing so hard my knuckles turned white.

_I can't. Not this. They deserve a chance. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't their mothers' faults. It wasn't even_ my _fault …_

"Swing the staff, Diaz!" Frahma bellowed again.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, staring the staff down. It looked different. Frahma had obviously altered it, along with his power. I had never felt such intense influence come from the staff before. Then, I saw it. That little glass globe he carried with him all the time. The one that mirrored the new moon …

"SWING THE STAFF!"

"I can't," I said, and dropped to my knees. "I can't do it."

My hands went limp and the staff clattered to the ground, rolling away. I covered my face in my hands and choked back sobs._ So many sobs …_

"You sniveling idiot!" Frahma shouted in rage, and he stormed forward, snatching the staff off the ground.

In one swift motion, he whirled around, waving the staff in a great, arching circle. Bright green magic streamed from the end of it, showering the crowd. My stomach turned and I clamped my eyes shut. I suddenly heard screaming and crying. Pain. But I kept my eyes shut. I didn't want to see. I wanted it all to be over—I wanted it never to have happened.

Frahma cackled wildly, and I cracked an eye open. My first sight was of Claudette and Beatta, clutching each other in the crowd, their mouths agape and eyes wide. The next thing I saw was total genocide. Babies—MY babies—lay strewn in the street, their tiny brains spilling onto the ground, the bright red in stark contrast to the blue-gray of the flagstones. Others were still clinging to the breasts of their mothers, their mothers clutching them back and sobbing. Still others had just collapsed on the spot, their little faces forever frozen in agonized screams.

_What have I done?!_

Frahma held the staff up in victory, a terrifying focal point for the bodies in the Square.

"And such will be your fate if you cross me!" he bellowed.

And then he turned to me.

"Shall I kill you too?" he asked, his voice vicious and seething. "To rid the earth of any more trash?"

Trembling and still crying, I turned my head up, my hands held before me in a pathetic prayer gesture. The pose of a beggar.

"P, please, Your Excellency …"

Frahma grinned wickedly and turned to the crowd again. "That's what a loyal servant does," he cooed, and yanked me to my feet.

He thrust me back toward the crowd, which parted to allow me through, and I sank into Claudette's arms. I realized, vainly, that I had missed an opportunity. A chance to rid the world of the scum that was Melbu Frahma.

Neither Claudette nor Beatta said anything more about the event, and I was thankful. Thankful to have their love and support. Thankful that the other children's lives had been spared. Thankful that I wouldn't have to live that horrific scene again except in my nightmares …

* * *

But not even having to watch the deaths of my own children could deter me. I set about searching freedom even more vehemently. Claudette and I gradually drifted apart, though I loved her no less. I continued to offer my services to the female slaves of Endiness, under the observation of Frahma, and yet another round of servant children was born, this time, all of them healthy. Thank Soa.

It was on one of these said excursions, two-and-a-half years later, that I happened across Zieg again.

I was walking behind Frahma, and Zieg was evidently performing one of his advance guard duties. He looked older, more mature. He had grown into his arms and legs, and powerful muscles now rippled beneath his armor. He was a commanding presence, enjoying the kind of assuredness that came from being the best. I caught his eye, and he raised his eyebrows in recognition.

I should have thought before I did it, but I paused and called out to the Wingly dictator.

"Your Royal Authority, Sir!"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What, Diaz?"

"I, uh, I've got to use the restroom. May I have a moment? I will meet you upstairs."

Frahma narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he spat. "But make it quick."

I trotted away, glancing back to make sure he had moved on. Sure enough, despite my debauchery, he still trusted my word and had walked away, taking the teleporter to the second floor.

"Zieg!" I called.

His head jerked my way. "Diaz?"

"The one and only," I said, bowing deeply. He laughed at my mockery.

"How have you been?" he asked, approaching. He shifted the broadsword at his hip, its weight pulling his belt into his flesh.

"I suppose all right. Yourself?"

"Same shit, different day."

I nodded in agreement and shifted my eyes to the floor. Zieg now wore heavy boots. They looked like they could kill a man with one blow to the gut.

"I heard about what happened," Zieg offered, quietly.

I looked up. His face was earnest, but clearly he had no way to express his sympathy. So I just nodded again.

Zieg glanced around and leaned in close, surprising me since his younger self had been so wary of proximity to anything or anyone.

"You still interested in that freedom stuff?" he asked. "'Cause I've been thinking about what you said …"

I sighed. "Yeah, I am. But it's more complicated now. Frahma's got a pretty tight rein on me. I doubt I would ever be able to get away."

"What do you mean?"

Rolling my eyes because I knew my time was running thin, I said, "Because of my current duties."

"Like what?"

_Soa's toes, the roles are reversed …_

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. Look, Zieg. If freedom means anything to you, we've gotta work together."

I glanced over my shoulder, just to make certain the asshole wasn't looking for me.

Zieg raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, just how do we do that?"

I frowned. "I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know when I figure something out… But hey, listen, I gotta get going or the Royal Dickhead is gonna want to cut mine off. Send me a message or something, or stop by if you can. We'll talk sometime."

Zieg gave me a little half-smile. "I would, if I could," he said. "My own duties kind of keep me away from that sort of thing. But I'll let you get back to, uh … whatever it is that you're planning to do."

I held out my hand and Zieg took it firmly, pumping it a couple times.

"Nice to see you again, Diaz," he said, and I ran off, waving to him over my shoulder.

Frahma didn't question me about my supposed bathroom break, and the visit to the Genesis Tower was relatively uneventful. But once we returned home, the sheer magnitude of what I'd done hit me like a Wingly-generated fireball.

* * *

"Diaz!"

_Gah, stupid name …_

Frahma called me into his study, where I paused in the doorway. He swiveled his fancy upholstered desk chair to face me.

"I am aware of a certain conversation of yours that does not please me in the least."

I stared at him blankly.

"A conversation which took place earlier this afternoon," Frahma continued, linking his fingers and crossing his legs. He always managed to look so casual when he was irritated.

"What conversation might that be, Your Excellency, Sir?"

Frahma frowned and peered at me from under barely-there brows. "The discussion you shared with one, Zieg Feld, commander of the Royal Advance Guard."

_Hmm … so he's the commander now …_

Again, I stared blankly, feigning confusion or ignorance.

"That man is a known rebel," Frahma continued, lowering his eyes and looking away. "A political advisor of mine is quite familiar with him, as Mr. Feld serves him as a personal guard. I can't fathom why Flavius allowed the fool to replace his command. Mr. Feld is a potential troublemaker. A malcontent. I would that you avoid contact with him."

"But, Sir, I—"

"Stop _lying_, Diaz." Frahma brought his icy eyes back to my face. "No one likes a liar."

_Funny you should say that_, I thought. _Hypocrite …_

"Shall I admonish you for the content of said conversation as well?" Frahma's tone turned sickeningly sweet. "Or shall the punishment be for the unbecoming nickname you called me?"

I just swallowed. Frahma swung his leg off his lap and stood, suddenly towering over me like he never had before.

"I will not tolerate discussions of insurgency in my household, Diaz." His voice was cold. "You Humans were meant by Soa to be ruled, and that's how we—meaning, Winglies—intend to keep it."

_Only because you know if anyone ever found out the truth, you'd lose your grip on the world…_

"This world would cease to turn without our rule," Frahma said, his voice low. He casually inspected his thumbnail, then brought his eyes back to mine. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the fact that he'd just read my mind … _again_.

"And you sincerely believe that?" I asked.

Frahma's mouth curved downward. "We believe it because it is the truth."

"Perhaps only in fictional tales."

Frahma frowned, his eyes flashing maliciously. I felt my blood boiling.

"I seem to recall having this conversation before, Diaz," Frahma growled. "One that took place with you sprawled on the floor and I with a whip in my hand."

We stood there, just staring at each other for a few seconds. And though I don't know what possessed me to do it, I reached back to slap the asshole, but his arm flashed forward, quick as a blink, and grabbed my forearm in a steely, ice-cold grip. If he had squeezed, it probably would have shattered my limb like someone snapping a chicken bone.

"You weren't just attempting to strike me, were you?" Frahma asked, his eyes blazing. I could almost feel the desire for murder pumping through his veins.

My forearm muscles relaxed, and I sighed deeply.

"No Sir," I replied, my shoulders slumping.

"Good." Frahma released my arm, shoving it back to my side. "I didn't want to have to get my whip out again."

I lowered my chin but my eyes remained trained on the Wingly dictator. He backed away slowly, toward his desk. I found myself wondering whatever had happened to my intention of staying on the emperor's good side. I suppose it had flown out the window when I became his footman. Or perhaps when I'd had the audacity to request my own mate. Or when I started reading the library materials. Whatever, it didn't matter now.

"You are dismissed, Diaz," Frahma snapped. "And I promise you, if I _ever_ discover plans of escape—" He lowered his face so close to mine that his hooked beak of a nose could've poked my eyes out. "—I will contrive a punishment so severe you will regret you ever heard the word freedom."

I lingered for a moment, narrowing my eyes and staring daggers at Frahma. We were enemies now. Perhaps we always had been. But certainly now, more than ever, and I wanted him to know. This meant war.

I turned and stormed down the hall into our cramped quarters, threw my portmanteau on the bed and began rooting through my few belongings. I tossed clothes in heaps onto the bed, followed by several of my books, and that's when I pulled out that reference book containing all the stories of Human freedom. I stared at it for a moment, and then promptly began tearing the pages from it, handfuls at a time, throwing them into the suitcase as well. My favorite, though, the part describing Humans as rulers of the ground, I folded into quarters and stuck it into the breast pocket of my vest.

Claudette stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her long blonde hair, now steadily turning gray, draped over her shoulders. She watched me, her eyes widening when I tore the pages of the book.

"Diaz! What's going on?" she asked, finally, her voice shrill.

I looked up from my hasty packing.

"We've gotta leave, Claudette. Right now. Frahma's hot on my trail and I gotta get outta here."

Claudette bowed her head. I could tell she was considering the words 'hot on my trail,' and when she looked up again, she wore an expression of disappointment, sadness and broken hope.

"Oh, Diaz," she whispered slowly. "This isn't about … is it?"

I only set my jaw and nodded grimly.

I heard her choke back a sob as she dragged out her linen drawstring bag. She piled a few sets of clothing into it, then sat on the bed and bawled. I ignored her though; I knew Claudette, and she was a follower. She would follow me if I asked, even against her better judgment. The kids came into the room to see what had caused their mother so much distress, but I immediately took over.

"Libria! Fitzhugh! Grab your belongings! We're leaving!"

They stared wide-eyed at me, then their mother, and back at me. They weren't used to hearing their Human names.

"Go!" I bellowed.

They scattered and Claudette sniffed, resuming her own packing. By ten o'clock that night, we were ready. Each of us possessed only a single small bag with items of importance, and I led my sad little family downstairs and outside to the courtyard before the palace.

The guards were out. My father one of them, no doubt. Claudette and the children hid in the shadows, behind the nearest wall of the closest building. The moons were out and stars sparkled in the dusky blue sky. I crept around the corner and slowly approached the guard at the palace gates, careful not to let my shoes clap on the pavement.

But he heard me anyway.

"Halt! Who is it?!" I heard the 'shing' of metal-on-metal as he drew his sword.

I dropped my bag and held my hands up. "You first!" I called.

"I am Lyle, a Guard of the Gate! Now who are you?"

Shit. I'd been hoping it was my father. Not that he'd have let me get away with this, either. As far as he was concerned, I'd been a derelict ever since the first whipping incident.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to retreat now, I stepped into the light spilled to the ground by the magical street lamps.

"Diaz?!" The guard jumped back, his battle stance faltering. "What are you doing?"

"Listen, Lyle … I need a favor. I'll repay it."

"And what is that?" He brought his sword back up, refusing to relent.

I sighed. "I need you to allow my family and I to pass through the palace gates."

"What? Why?"

"I cannot answer that at this time."

"Why not? You're evidently doing something wrong!" Lyle took a few steps toward me, distrust filling his eyes.

My brain raced to think of a plausible excuse.

"No, sir. We are going on a trip to Ulara, acting as a decoy for His Royal Authority."

Lyle paused for a moment. "I didn't hear of any trip to Ulara."

"You wouldn't have," I continued, calmly. "It's a secret expedition to scope out a summer home for His Excellency."

Again, Lyle considered what I'd said. Then, slowly, he spoke.

"You're lying … your family wouldn't be coming with you. Maybe Tamaran, but not the women. You're escaping, aren't you?"

I took a deep breath, attempting to keep calm. "No, we—"

"You wouldn't have bags. His Royal Authority would send them separately. You're _escaping!"_

"Lyle, please, we—"

But before I could even finish my sentence, the shrill call of a whistle rang into the still night. Twenty guards came forward out of nowhere, all brandishing weapons and closing in on me. My family stepped out of the shadows and ran to me, as if they believed closeness would protect all or any of us. The courtyard exploded with light, and before I knew it, Melbu Frahma had appeared in the center of the mass of guards.

_This is it,_ I thought. _My life is officially over._

Claudette whimpered at my side, now terrified for her own fate, rather than just mine. It was a welcome change, but it annoyed me as well. I'd risked her livelihood before, and only now, when she had followed me blindly for so long, did she choose to worry about her own skin.

Frahma's face curled into a sinister expression of glee. He snapped his fingers, and the man I thought was Lyle flickered and suddenly became a Wingly guard, a grin just as ugly as Frahma's written on his face.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Frahma asked casually, moving forward.

I shrugged. "Well, I—"

"SILENCE!"

I clammed up, cowering with the rest of my family.

"Though I am not surprised you still chose to run away," Frahma continued, "I am shocked you chose such a stupid manner of escape. I thought you, of all my servants, Diaz, would be intelligent enough to figure out a creative means of exiting."

I scowled at the insult but remained silent.

"I warned you about the punishment," Frahma said, "and now you've forced me to follow through. My, how quickly things have progressed."

He pulled his staff from behind his back.

_Oh no, not that thing again_, I thought ruefully.

"I thought it was in your best interest to have a family of your own, Diaz. I thought it would do you good to have the love and support of a wife and children. But evidently, they have done you little good. Instead, you have bred me a race of insolents. Rebels. I should ignore this last measure of stupidity on your part, and do away with those children you've beget with other slaves—"

Frahma paused, stroking the staff, petting it like it was a favorite animal companion. He then looked up, straight at me, his eyes glowing with hatred.

"—But I've decided on a much more extravagant punishment. Come forward, Diaz."

Wondering what could possibly be worse than having to watch my own children put to death, I stood and walked forward, forcing myself to hold my head high. Frahma watched me calmly, but I knew rage still boiled in his brain.

When I was standing directly in front of the Wingly dictator, he smiled that wicked twist of a grin and handed me the staff.

I looked down at it. The thing was simple enough, just a twist of willow wood, with a glowing, green orb on top, embedded into the spindles of twig. Once again I held that rod, its head radiating insurmountable magical power. Again, I held it and I stared.

Frahma turned his attention to my family, now crouching and shuddering in the center of the courtyard.

"You three, stand up," he commanded.

They did what he asked, still shaking in terror.

"Feel that power, Diaz?" Frahma asked, glancing over his shoulder to me. "I want you to use it. Use it, and _destroy_ them."

"What?!" My brows knit together and I fought to hold back the wave of tears stinging my eyes. I looked up at Frahma, my vision blurry with saline. But it was still enough to see that he grinned like a crazy person, his face openly revealing the perverse pleasure he drew from our pain and misery.

The guards behind us, blocking the gates, watched the grisly scene, some in fear, some in interest, some in horror.

I again looked at the staff and clutched it so tightly my knuckles turned white. I didn't want to. Not this. Anything but this. I wished I had never wondered what could be worse than the incident with the children …I wanted him to torture me. ME. He could do anything he liked to me. Whip me, pull my fingernails from their beds, slash my vital arteries, break my every limb … _anything_, but punish me by punishing my family. My _innocent_ family. It _was_ my fault, this time. All … my … fault.

"Go on, Diaz," Frahma purred, still calm.

I looked at my family. All three of them, still so young. Claudette, only just turned forty, her blue eyes still sparkling like they had the day I'd married her. Those eyes pleaded with me to resist. Begged me to save them. And Beatta, now nineteen and engaged to some kid under the surveillance and care of Prime Minister Dorian Thayus. She possessed my dark hair and her mother's eyes. She looked so pretty and innocent, standing there bathed in moonlight. And Tamaran … poor Tamaran. Perhaps he would be better off dead, like I would have been at his age. He was clearly following in my footsteps, a curse I wouldn't wish on the worst of people.

"'Tis the price you must pay, Diaz," Frahma said, firmer now. "Kill them."

_Don't do it, Diaz … Don't do it, Dad_ … I heard their pleading voices, a chanting rhythm in my head.

"NO!" I shouted.

"That is not an option," Frahma hissed. "Either you kill them, or I kill you all!"

"Then do it!" I cried. A collective gasp erupted from the guards and my family. "Do it! I don't know why you haven't before when you had the chance!"

Frahma wrinkled his ugly face into an even uglier sneer.

"Because you will do as I say before you die," he snapped.

And he flew toward me, taking only three great strides to close the distance. He reached into his robes and drew out another instrument of torture. To most, it looked like a simple whip, but to those who were familiar with its destruction, it was much more. He held it up, the tiny barbed ends on the tassels glinting in the light of the street lamps. After striking with that, those barbs sunk their teeth into flesh and ripped it from the body.

"You kill them right now, Diaz, or I swear to Soa, I will—"

I stared Frahma down … and flung the staff to the ground. It clattered, bounced a little on the street and rolled a few feet away.

Frahma reared back and didn't even bother to rip my shirt off this time. He placed his boot on my back, kicked me to my knees, and swung the whip.

The first blow felt like falling onto a bed of glass, but the pain was nothing compared to the second. Frahma ripped the barbs from my flesh to take another blow, and Claudette cried out as blood spurted from the wounds, spraying blotches of red onto the pavement.

"Do as I say!" Frahma roared. "I will teach you to dismiss me!"

Again, he reeled back and brought the whip forward, those little barbs tearing the skin and

muscle and sinew from my back. My head spun from loss of blood, the pain travelling up my spine and ricocheting around my cranial cavity. I felt my eyes rolling back in my head, and my arms collapsed under my weight much sooner than they had last time. But Frahma kept going.

"Diaz!" Claudette screamed. "Oh Diaz! Your Excellency, stop! Please stop!"

But he didn't listen. Again and again and again, he struck, bringing forth more blood and littering the courtyard with little chunks of my flesh.

"Your Authority, stop! _Daddy!_" Beatta cried. Tamaran joined her with his own chorus of pleading requests.

Finally, with my entire back a singular open wound, the dictator's blows drew to a halt. He paused, breathing deeply, and licked the blood from his lips.

"Get to your feet, Diaz, and get this over with before I change my mind."

I pulled myself to my knees, and Frahma yanked me up from there, handing me the staff once more. Again, I stared at it, balking at the thought of murdering my own family.

My brain suddenly flashed back to the incident in Mirr, in front of that crowd. The murder of those infants, and my missed opportunity.

Somewhere deep within, a voice told me, _This is your chance. Do it, now. You will not have another opportunity …_

"Just do it, Diaz!" Claudette called, her hands braced on the shoulders of her children. It was her nature to endure sacrifice. She could tell I was wavering. "Do it and save yourself!"

I stared at her, my heart breaking with every word.

"DO IT!" she screamed, her eyes wild.

She braced her legs, the nighttime breeze blowing her hair about her like she was some kind of warrior goddess. Beatta stood behind her, her pointed chin aimed toward the moons, long, dark eyelashes tickling her cheeks. And Tamaran sank into a martial arts stance, preparing himself for the onslaught of death.

And I knew what I had to do. There was no other choice.

Before I could change my mind, I turned on my heel, clutching the staff and whirling it in an arc, as Frahma once had to kill my other children. I pointed the staff right at Frahma, its end glowing bright green and hurling magic from the sphere that drove its power. Suddenly the world was in slow motion, and I watched the realization of death flicker in Frahma's eyes. It was odd to see him so frightened. It made me happy, giddy. As quickly as the fear had appeared, though, Frahma's face contorted into a sneer and he laughed. The magic tumbled at him, but before it arrived, Frahma conjured a spell and flung it forward. The magic bounced off the invisible shield and altered its course right toward my family.

That evil bastard watched, his eyes glowing with glee as the horrible streams of green magic wrought their destruction, satisfying the dictator and his staff's insatiable desire for murder. The magic ripped through the air, choking its victims with its terrible power, but I heard no screams or cries, and I watched as their bodies collapsed on each other in a broken heap, the life passing from their eyes. They clung to each other in death as they had while living … still relying on me to carry the name of our family onward.

I threw the staff to the side and fell forward, completely drained, but the tears still spilled from my eyes.

"And that," Frahma huffed, "is that. You serve me and me only, Diaz. You should have known better than to cross me."

I was surprised that's all he said. No threats of death, no challenges for me to maintain my loyalty, no sentencing to some unalterable, horrible fate. He simply walked away, leaving the guards to clean up his mess.

I can't explain how badly I wanted to die right then. I wanted more than anything to succumb to the pain, for my soul to chase those of my family to Mayfil and beyond. I couldn't bear the thought of my little Claudette, her soul lost and wandering in the inky darkness of the end. I couldn't stand the idea of Libria and Fitzhugh's souls, toyed with in the wake of the Devildom. I'd felt their spirits pass through the veil, and I wanted to die with them. But somewhere, deep inside me, the little voice of liberty still cried out … And it was stronger than ever.

* * *

To tell you the truth, I don't know why I was there. Crouching in the darkness, concealed in the shadows between Melbu Frahma's custom-painted armoire and the dressing screen. The dictator's sleeping form lay in his elaborately carved, four-poster bed only a few feet away.

I listened for the quiet, rhythmic breath of sleep escaping from his mouth, and lunged.

But let me explain.

I probably could have killed him, right then and there. I've kept a small knife in my pocket ever since he wiped out all of those babies—_my_ babies—just in case I ever got the opportunity and had the guts. But that's not really what my intention was. I was hiding there for a different reason.

Frahma's staff—the ominous scepter he carried with him at all times, the sole symbol that he was all-powerful, all-knowing, all-glorious—rested in its place in the cane rack by the door. Its power source glowed faintly from within the crystalline sphere topping the staff; it was the only thing I'd ever seen the bastard carry around with him all the time, and then he'd gone and slapped it on top of that stupid walking stick of his. I'm entirely surprised he hadn't ever beat any of us with it ... then again, maybe he had.

I wasn't sure, exactly, what that thing (they'd called it a Crystal Sphere, I think) did, but I knew it was super important, it fueled Melbu Frahma's endless magical power, and it was scary as hell. Pretty much every Wingly in Kadessa was afraid of it and probably everyone everywhere else, too. I knew that whatever that thing was, it had somehow changed the Wingly dictator (for the worse, most would argue) and that it had been a point of contention between he and Charle because she'd moved out of the palace only a few weeks ago.

I'd come to destroy it. Break it into a thousand tiny pieces. Snuff out that eerie greenish glow forever. Don't ask why. Again, I can't really explain 'cause I don't even know what the thing is for, but what I do know is that it's powerful as hell and breaking it would be my chance to get the hell outta dodge. Besides, I didn't have much to live for anyway.

So, I lunged.

But unfortunately, bad luck befell me again and I tripped, landing hard on the carpet with an 'oof' so loud I was sure Charle heard it from wherever she'd moved to. I scrambled to my feet, peering into the darkness and clutching my chest as if I could somehow shove my hand through my ribcage and shut my heart up by force. Frahma mumbled something and rolled over, the sheets rustling with his movements. I held my breath until I heard his soft snores again.

I breathed out a sigh of relief and tiptoed across the room to the cane rack. Carefully and smoothly, I lifted the scepter out of its cradle and held it before me, trying to imagine what Melbu Frahma felt each time he held the thing. All I could feel was wave after wave of untapped energy and magic, radiating from the center of that knob on the staff. It was comforting and powerful and deadly all at the same time. I hated it.

Holding the staff in a fierce, white-knuckle grip, I brought my arm back, prepared to smash that crystalline globe, once and for all. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it so badly it burned a hot hole in my stomach. It was vengeance; justice for those poor infants not given a decent chance to live, revenge for the death of my family, karma for every wrongdoing in his evil past.

But something reverberated in my bones and made me pause.

I stared at the Crystal Sphere, aquamarine mist swirling and bending upon itself inside the glass. I gritted my teeth and scowled at it. The mist kept twirling around as if I weren't even there.

_Die, you bastards! Let this be the spur to your eternal damnation!_ I thought quickly, and brought my arm forward.

At first the staff seemed heavier than it actually was when I had first picked it up, and for a moment I thought I would be carried away with the force of my own throw. And then, in one huge whirlwind—in a fraction of a second—Melbu Frahma leapt from his bed, screaming, "Noooooo!" and dove for the staff. His hand cradled the Crystal Sphere, long, gnarled fingers curling around it. He jerked the staff from my grasp and rolled to his feet, all in one swift motion.

With a wave of the scepter, the torches on the walls roared to life, revealing Frahma in his embroidered dressing gown and me wearing an expression of pure terror. The flames crackled and danced, reflecting the burning hatred in the dictator's eyes.

"You ..."

He started toward me, but I didn't wait around to watch this time. Nope, not this time. Apparently there was still more fight in me than I'd thought, and I ran like hell.

I tore down the palace corridors, the Wingly dictator flinging blasts of magic at me with every step. I thanked Soa that I had been given the grace of speed and agility, though I lacked any sort of finesse or skill in any other physical activity. A fireball seared the air overhead, singeing my hair, and I began to wonder whatever had possessed me to want to piss him off again.

I rounded a corner and found myself at the Grand Staircase. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Frahma, barreling toward me like an angry bear, so I did the only thing I could. I backed up to get a running start, and took a flying leap over the banister.

Sailing through the air was exhilarating, and for a split second, I was mildly jealous of the Winglies for their capacity to fly. But I didn't have much time to consider it, because I started falling ... and fast. I probably would have made it to the chandelier if I'd been just an inch or two taller or had bothered to exercise my legs a little better. Ah well.

I chanced a look at the ground, only to see about a hundred members of Melbu Frahma's guard, waiting to snatch me out of the air or clean up the remnants of my broken body once I hit the tiled floor. On one hand, I hoped my fate would be the latter option, since I wasn't really sure what the punishment was for people who tried to destroy the Emperor's power.

_Had anyone really ever tried that before?_

Anyway, I was surprised to see both a mix of Humans and Winglies ... and there was Zieg. He'd struck me as a good kid. Useful. Probably more so than I'd been. His eyes were trained on my fall like everyone else's, and as the ground grew closer and closer, I noticed his expression. It was like he was terrified that my fate was his own, and the fate of all Humans—like he felt sorry for me. And suddenly, I had new resolve to live.

I remember plowing into a sea of ogling bodies and the pain that ripped through my every limb, and I vaguely recall seeing Zieg standing over me for a moment, saying something, barking orders. I remember a hulking guard picking me up to drape my body over his shoulder ... and then the world went dark.

* * *

When I came to, I realized I was in a prison cell. Dark, dank and absolutely putrid. Moldy straw heaped in a corner comprised a bed for the several men locked in a single cell, and a shallow trench along one wall served as the toilet, the obvious source of the acrid smell.

I sat up, holding my head and trying to stop the room from spinning. I fought with my stomach to avoid vomiting into my lap, but sadly, I lost that battle, adding my own flair to the already awful stench of the place. I reached up and gingerly touched my head; almost immediately, white-hot pain ripped down the side of my face and through my eyes. It felt like my brain was on fire. When I pulled my hand away and was finally able to open my eyes again, I saw my fingertips were drenched in a sticky red mess ... blood. _My_ blood.

Again fighting the urge to toss my cookies, I considered where I was. I knew the place, though I'd never been there in my life, and I'm sure it was no place good, considering how it smelled and what I'd recently done. My vision was blurry, but I glanced around the cell. It was relatively empty except for me and two others. One of them was a Giganto who appeared to be at the end of his existence, probably at the hands of the Winglies who ran the Coliseum. The other man was bone-thin, with a long mess of tangled hair and a hollow look in his eyes.

"Excuse me," I said weakly.

Neither of them heard me.

"Excuse me!" A little louder this time, and Tarzan turned, staring at me over his shoulder with a glare so hot it probably could've melted Kashua.

"S,sorry, I just wanted to know where we are ..."

The man grunted, like he had forgotten how to use words. I waited, and for a moment was worried that I would die or be executed before I was able to find out where I was and where I'd been since I'd tried to break Frahma's favorite toy.

Then, "Prison," the man mumbled. "Death row."

My eyebrows shot up. "Death row?"

He coughed. "Yep."

I turned this around in my brain for a bit, mulling over the idea of being executed. "Death row" for the Winglies meant first up in a Coliseum match; it basically guaranteed death. Not the end I'd really intended, but then again ...

Heavy, hobnailed boots clapped on the stone walkway outside the cells. Probably a guard. Inmates flocked to the iron-barred doors, clinging to and clawing beyond them, begging for a meal or a bowl of water.

_Like animals_, I thought.

The footsteps steadily grew louder, and my brain screamed at the noise. I'd obviously not been incarcerated long enough for my head wound to heal properly.

The guard stopped in front of our cell. He was Human, which surprised me, but I resisted the urge to trust him. As far as I was concerned, with him out there and me behind these bars, he was another one of _them_. He cleared his throat and unfurled a piece of parchment.

"There a Diaz here?"

The two other prisoners suddenly jolted to life, clambering to the door and shouting, "Me, me! I'm Diaz!"

It took a minute to register, but I crawled forward.

"That's me," I said, clutching my gut against another round of nausea from the sudden movement.

The guard snorted and hauled me to my feet, his eyes traveling me up and down. My stomach lurched, and it felt like my head was going to explode.

"You're coming with me," the guard spat finally. "Got an order from the boss."

I wondered who their "boss" was, whether it was Frahma himself or some Wingly underling unworthy of a definite name.

Meh. They were all unworthy of names, if you asked me.

The guard jerked me out of the cell and into the long, dark corridor beyond. We started walking.

"You owe the Commander of the Guard an awful lot of gratitude," he said. "He saved your life."

Confused, I turned my head to face the guard, my brain still fuzzy and fighting the act of walking.

"What do you mean?" I mumbled.

He shrugged, his grip just as firm on my arm. "You know … Zieg, the commander of the Royal Advance Guard. Took Flavius' place."

My brain hurried to catch up. "Yeah," I said, "how do _you_ know him?"

The guard stopped, glanced around, and shoved me into a side hall. He removed his helmet, and suddenly, I was staring into the face of Zieg Feld.

"What are you—?"

Zieg lurched forward and clapped a hand over my mouth.

"Shh …" he said, glancing over his shoulder for spies. He turned back to me. "I ordered everyone to get back when you jumped over that banister. It took a lot of underhanded switch-plays and some considerable convincing, the likes of which I don't really have the time to explain, but Frahma left you to me, probably 'cause he figured we'd both wind up dead anyhow. But if I wouldn't've been there, he'd have stomped all over you … probably obliterated anything left with that staff o' his."

I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that Zieg was seriously risking his life to help me escape.

"Why did you—?"

Again, he clapped the hand over my mouth and spoke quickly in hushed whispers.

"I'll explain sometime, Diaz. I will. But right now time is short. I can't explain it, but I felt compelled to help you. Like you said, we're all in the same boat, and if one of us can get out, then …" He let his sentence trail off suggestively. I nodded.

"So you've gotta get away. Your trial is tonight, in Zenebatos. You'll be convicted, but the punishment won't be death. I saw to it."

Zieg looked straight into my eyes, moving even closer.

"I'm counting on you, Diaz. We all are. The way is open for you to get out of this. Throw off your chains."

I swallowed and nodded again. Zieg shoved his helmet back onto his head, and we were off again.

With his disguise back in place, he led me through corridors and eventually into the bright sunlight, which stung my eyes and made my head pound all over again. He shoved me onto a transfer cart and tilted my head back, pouring a healing fog down my throat and over the various lacerations on my body. It tasted like the combination of aged wine and sour honey, but it was the sweetest feeling. My body tingled all over and my vision returned, but the best part was that I could actually sit up and move without feeling the need to keel over.

"So who's the boss?" I asked, brushing some dirt from my torn sleeve. "What's he want with me?"

Back in his role as guard, Zieg jostled me around until my position in the cart satisfied him.

"Shut it," he snapped, buckling me in. "His Excellency has generously decided to spare your pathetic life. He's sold you to a gig much better 'suited' to you, he said."

"And what is that?" I asked hotly, playing along.

"Something about testing at Aglis, I dunno." Zieg shrugged and wheeled me onto the teleporter outside the Coliseum gates. "Guess you'll find out soon enough, huh?"

He attempted to send me a look of compassion and sympathy. It failed miserably.

And with that, we erupted as a beam of light, headed toward the formidable courts of Zenebatos.

The next thing I knew, Zieg had disappeared and I was standing before the Honorable Judge Nomos of the Great Court of Zenebatos, the world spinning below the glass floor. I tried not to gawk at it because my brain was vehemently trying to convince me the floor didn't really exist; my knees struggled to keep my weight upright.

"Guilty as charged, Your Honor," the head juror lapto said, buzzing toward the judge. It was a squirrely little thing with an automated voice, flying around on those stupid teleporter disks because it didn't have the life-force of its creators.

_Poor excuse for justice_ …

"Diaz!" Nomos boomed. "You have been generously offered another opportunity at life at the hands of His Royal Authority, Melbu Frahma!"

"Thank you, Your Honor," I mumbled.

"And for that, you are sentenced to withstand magical testing as a lab guinea pig for the rest of your days on earth."

I didn't bother to protest. There was no point. Being a test subject at Aglis meant death, just as if I had been sentenced to battle the Virage in the Coliseum. A Wingly guard led me out of the courts and back to the main teleporter, possessing no scruples about crushing my bicep with inhuman force.

"It's back to Kadessa with you now," he quipped. "Gotta join the rest of the scumbags bound for Aglis. You'll be walking."

Any other time, I might have been surprised. Aglis was another of the Wingly flying cities, located in the middle of the ocean, in the midst of the Broken Islands. I didn't quite fathom how we'd be _walking_ to a flying city located above water, but I guess the Winglies set out to surprise us with new and improved torture and punishment.

So by the end of the week, I'd been stripped of my clothes and bound in chains on my wrists and ankles. My shackles were connected to those of other slaves, and so on until a chain of about thirty of us existed. We headed out for the trail, a long, winding and treacherous path passing around the edge of the Death Frontier, our shackles jangling and clanking with the shifting movements. Some of us were old enough to be dead already anyway; others looked as young as six- or seventeen. It appeared to be a relatively even mix of men and women, and I wondered how many of the others' lives had been "spared." I wondered if any of them had committed such audacious crimes as mine, or if they had been falsely accused and wrongly tried.

I supposed none of it mattered. We were all headed to our doom anyway.

The first few days on the trail were rough; my muscles screamed in agony from overexertion, and by the end of the first night, my feet were in such pain from the blisters that I opted to sacrifice my modesty for comfort and wrapped them in my loincloth. It was just as well; we were nearing the edge of the Death Frontier, where the sand was so hot during the day it seared the skin right off the bottoms of your feet.

When the slave traders leading our motley group decided to set up camp near the end of the sixth day's push, three of us had already died. One old man probably succumbed to exhaustion, a middle-aged woman had presumably gone insane and strangled herself in the night, and another woman, only slightly younger than myself, had given birth on the move, her baby dragging her entrails out with it because the traders had no time to stop for the woman to rest. I felt bad for them all, but mostly, I clung to my own notions of survival.

It was that night that we set up camp, though, that something happened. The traders had built a fire and were warming themselves in its flickering light, cooking the dinner they wouldn't share with us. Some of the other slaves were lying down, trying to catch the much-needed rest we all deserved, while others searched desperately through the gravely sand for a meager meal. I simply sat and stared.

I stared out at the desert before me, the inky darkness of night sinking beyond the mountains of rock and sandy dunes. The wind blew wavy patterns in the sand, and rustled my unruly hair. It was refreshing and invigorating. The Never-Setting Moon, as it had recently come to be called, hung, pregnant and glowing, over the desert, granting an eerie light to the world around. Small slivers of the smaller moons poked out from behind the clouds, but few stars sparkled; I would normally have taken it as a bad omen, but tonight, it strengthened me.

I don't know what ever made me think I could do it. Maybe it was the same sense that had dared me to break Melbu Frahma's staff. Maybe it was the voice in my head telling me I could make it, that I would live. Either way, it was stupid. It was foolish. And I was gonna do it.

Judging by the moon, it was sometime around midnight when the traders settled down for the night. I glanced around me; everything was silent. Most everyone was sleeping or dozing off, and the whistling wind provided just enough sound cover. I made my move.

Careful not to move too quickly and holding the chains taught so they didn't jingle, I stood and took a few steps. The men chained near me protested at first, irritated at being disturbed, but they quickly allowed me to continue once I explained my plan. I crept toward the traders' packs, intent on stealing the axe poking from one of them. It was slow going; I had to pause every few seconds to readjust my chains and check on the guards, making sure they were still lost in dreamland. By now, several other prisoners had awoken and were silently cheering me on or jeering at me.

Finally, I reached the packs and cautiously slid the axe from the pouch. Its sharpened blade gleamed in the moonlight, beckoning me with the call of freedom. I paused and took a deep breath, stilling my pounding heart.

_I'm so close. I'm so close … don't screw this up, Diaz._

I glanced at the sleeping forms of the traders and considered lopping their heads off or gutting them. It woulda made a pretty scene for Frahma and his ignorant underlings to discover. We all would get away, and start up our own free Human village, here in the desert …

_No._

It wasn't the traders' fault they'd been given the grisly duty of leading us to our doom. Obviously they had done something in their pasts to warrant treatment as lesser Winglies.

I turned and shuffled back to my spot a little quicker than I had moved to the packs. It was too exciting to have the axe in my hand and be this close to getting away. I originally possessed the intention of freeing all of us, but with the end slaves attached via an ankle shackle to each of the traders, I knew it wasn't possible. I would have to choose, and hope that the others would later have the courage to free themselves. Deep down, I knew many of them wouldn't; they'd succumb to the pressures of the Winglies and die at the hands of Aglis scientists, but for me, this one bold move was a personal declaration of war. I'd had enough.

I swung the axe and it fell on my chains with a solid 'thwang.' I glanced over my shoulder at the traders, but they were still sound asleep. I wondered if Zieg had somehow managed to slip something into their drinks—some sleeping draught or whatever—but I put the thought out of my mind. I wondered instead, then, what it would take to wake them, but decided that I would worry about it when (and if) the time came. Swing after swing, the axe fell against the chains, sparking and splitting the iron, little-by-little. Several times the traders rolled over or scratched an itch on their butts, but still they remained quiet, trusting that all was well.

It was nearing dawn when I broke through the chains holding me to the prisoner on my left. She was young, probably no older than twenty, with desperation in her eyes. She wanted to come along, but she was so thin she probably wouldn't have made it another day or two. I doubted freedom would fare her much better and moved on, down the line to a man with hollow eyes and a scraggly beard. He appeared sound, and though he looked a little crazy, he would probably be useful against creatures in the desert. The prisoners between us were a fair sampling of our entire group: seven of us in total, four men, three women. The other two men were relatively healthy-looking, and the women weren't pregnant or weak, at least.

I swung the axe, quicker and stronger this time, spurred by the thought of actually getting away.

A collective gasp ran through the crowd of prisoners, a sound of rejoicing and terrible fear, but I pressed on.

_So close … so close … so close_, ran the chant in my brain.

Again and again, the clang of metal on metal rang into the night. Dawn was now on the horizon, the first rays of the morning sun piercing the darkness above the dunes. Slowly, the joint link wore away, iron giving way to steel.

_So close … so close … so close._

"Hurry!" the man next to me hissed. He was watching the traders, who were now beginning to shift in their sleep and re-enter the waking world.

Quickly, I bent backward and swung the axe a final time. It severed the final chain and we stood. Though they knew their fate lay elsewhere, a cheer went up from the slaves who remained tethered to the traders. One of the men rolled over and opened an eye. He looked right at us and my breath caught in my throat.

_Go back to sleep_, I willed.

But the stupid bastard shook the slumber from his brain and rolled to his side. "Hey, what're you think you're—"

"RUN!" I screamed.

And with that, we took off into the desert, our chains clanging loudly with every stride and streaming behind us like we were some kind of skeletal, phantom prisoners. My call woke the other trader and they both got up to chase us, curse words flying from their mouths, weapons in hand. But we were fast. Too fast. We were riding the swift winds of liberty, and nothing could catch up with us now. The traders quickly gave up and returned to the camp, evidently realizing the value of the many over the few.

A man to my left cackled like a loony and another howled like a wolf. I felt like joining them. I'd succeeded. We'd gotten away. We had beaten Fate, and we were _free_.

43


	3. Spiritus (Spirit)

_Okay, guys, sorry this took so long, if any of you are reading this at all. I was annoyed with the way the original second chapter had turned out, and it made no sense and went waaayyy too much into detail with Zieg's backstory, so I pretty much had to rewrite it. ... And it still sucks. Ahh, well. I tried. That's why I'm also posting Rose's chapter, which is significantly better and more interesting, if you can slog through all of Zieg's reminiscing and mental monologues. Anyway, here it is._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Spiritus_

_Feld._ My last name. The final connection I had to a time long-since past. A single shred of hope in a world that had become dark, hateful and oppressive.

It's difficult to say where I might have ended up if I had never jumped aboard the freedom bandwagon. If I'd never trusted anyone but myself and my broadsword. If I'd never dared to hold out hope that Humans would one day be free again. It's both frightening and emboldening to think what would have happened had none of us ever chosen that road … but I'm ahead of myself.

It's safe to say there's really more to my story, but even with all of the awful, scarring tragedies I'd endured, my _real_ tale begins and ends with Diaz. A man whose vision and acumen regarding the potential for the future laid the groundwork for a world of equality. And though I'd probably already been jaded by the system and branded into servility, his dream was my dream. _Our_ dream… the Humans' dream.

And my last name—that small, weak grasp on what long ago was and what could be again—drove me onward. A hatred of Winglies—for what they'd done to my race, to my family, to _me_—burned steadily in the back of my mind … and I wanted revenge.

* * *

Honestly, meeting Diaz changed my life.

He wasn't anything special or interesting, just a short, squat man with dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He held himself well, though, and an inexplicable fieriness glittered in his eyes. Experience had taught me to distrust those with rank higher than my own, and judging by his clothes, Diaz was a slave of very high rank. He'd ridden inside the sedan chair with Frahma the entire way to Mirr, and Frahma had even stuck him in charge. So I was leery of his purpose when he'd approached me to chat that day, but something about him was different from all my other encounters.

That was the point of distinction for me. I'd always trusted my comrades in the Guard, but I remained wary of most Humans and avoided Winglies altogether, thanks to the frightening nightmare from my childhood. But meeting Diaz turned everything I knew upside-down. Something inside me wanted to trust him. Listen to him. _Believe_ him.

I don't know how he eventually turned me around or what made me wind up spilling my soul to him, but I did. I told him everything. Who I was, where I'd come from, why I was alone. The one thing I didn't tell him was where I planned on going because I wasn't sure myself. The last thing he'd said to me, though, was a promise. A promise to free us all. I guess I'd always thought I was already free. But somewhere along the line, Fate had tricked me, and as Diaz said, I wound up in the same boat as everyone else. The realization was like waking up from death.

* * *

I saw the world—_my_ world—differently after meeting Diaz, I think.

I accompanied various Wingly men and women across the landscape of Endiness to different cities, their vacation homes, and on excursions to scope out new land, each time looking for a possible outlet to get myself out of dodge. By the time I was seventeen, I'd gone up against just about every creature found on the continent, and had discovered fifty new ways _not_ to escape slavery. But, I was good enough to have a regular spot on an Advance Guard team, and though I switched between teams frequently, keeping busy in my servitude was better than dwelling on it constantly.

It was a fine spring-summer day shortly after my seventeenth birthday when Cassius Morrel, owner of The Guard, called me to serve as the third party member in Melbu Frahma's personal security force. This group of twelve men, usually referred to as the Royal Advance Guard, reserved their strength and battle talent solely to protect the Wingly dictator, and they were usually hand-selected by Frahma himself as being the strongest, bravest and most dangerous fighters. Aslow was a member, but he now spent most of his time training Morrel's latest purchases.

The commander of the Royal Advance Guard (and therefore the regular Guard as well) was a middle-aged Human man named Flavius; for the most part he kept to himself, possessed good leadership skills, and barked orders like a general. He was always the lead party member in battle, and bred courage in the others. He was tall and brawny, wielding an axe in battle like a madman.

Kallan was the second usual member of Frahma's protective force. He wasn't necessarily as brave or steadfast as Flavius, but he was deadly with a spear. He didn't rely on brawn alone. Instead, he let his skill speak for itself. He was so fast and agile that enemies rarely knew what hit 'em until Kallan was already done and back in position.

When I turned nineteen, I was purchased by Lucius Diehl, a political advisor to His Royal Authority, Melbu Frahma. He was a young, rich man with big dreams and a huge ego. But he apparently treated his slaves well, and I was permitted to live in his elegant townhouse with the three other slaves he kept: a maid, a butler, and his wife's ladies' maid. I served a number of purposes for Diehl. I acted as his body guard, as well as a sentry at the gate of his abode. I didn't really think guarding his house was necessary, but I obeyed because I realized my life would be easier if I kept quiet.

I had developed my battle skill near to perfection at this time, and when Flavius decided it was time for him to retire from the Guard, I stepped forward as a potential replacement. It didn't sit too well with a lot of the other members, particularly a man named Jeffers, but Aslow supported me the entire way. And with a vote of 17-13 in favor, along with the blessing of Cassius Morrel himself, I became the new Commander of the Guard, and by extension, the leader of Melbu Frahma's Royal Advance Guard.

* * *

And then, the night I'll never forget. The night that burned the future of Humanity into posterity. The night that set into motion events that changed the course of history.

It hadn't been long since I saw Diaz in Mirr. Maybe a couple months. I was playing cards with a few of the guard members. Frahma was supposedly making a trip to Ulara the following morning, and the team he'd chosen (me, Kallan and the new scamp, Rufus) was supposed to turn in early in order to be well-rested. But me and a bunch of the guard were up, sitting around the foyer lounge of the palace, talking, playing cards and drinking up a storm, with the exception of Rufus, who'd gone to bed like he was told.

None of us were really supposed to be there, but we were because it was sort of like laughing directly in the face of Melbu Frahma without the immediate punishment.

It was sometime around midnight when we heard a commotion coming from the entryway, and we all ran to the door, poking our heads into the Grand Hall. Realizing that something huge was happening, we all entered the hall, trying to blend with the Wingly guards and palace servants. Everyone watched the balcony, so we turned our heads to look too.

And there, at the top of the Grand Staircase, was Diaz. He craned his neck, looking over the edge of the railing.

_What's going on? What's he doing?_ I thought.

Diaz backed up slowly, glancing over his shoulder. Streams of greenish-blue magic flew over Diaz's shoulders and head, striking the glass ceiling, the walls and the floor. Glass shards showered to the tiled floor, tinkling like little, far-away bells. The lot of us ducked and covered our necks with our arms.

Melbu Frahma's voice echoed through the great chamber from where he was down the hall. "Get him, you bastards! Stop him!"

I managed to bring my gaze away from the shattered ceiling, and turned my attention back to the situation on the balcony. Suddenly, Diaz was hurtling toward the railing separating solid floor from air. My heart leapt into my chest as he launched himself up and over the banister.

_Soa's left nut! He's gonna kill himself!_

I'd heard what happened to his family. We all had. It didn't surprise me that Diaz looked old and drained and that he was obviously attempting a last-ditch effort at joining his loved ones. I felt bad for him. For all of Humanity, really.

And watching this scene was like watching a death in slow motion. Like seeing the future of Humanity—and my own Fate—slide through Soa's fingertips. Like struggling, helpless, against a rapidly increasing tide, something I'd realized when I met Diaz the second time. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw Diaz's expression change. It was slight, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. A look meant for me. A look that pleaded, _Help me._

Diaz plummeted toward the ground at a breakneck speed, and I, remembering his promise and not thinking much, ran forward. I plowed into a man in front of me, paying no attention to whether he was Human or Wingly. It didn't matter. He would serve my purpose just fine. He toppled to the floor, exclaiming something about my clumsiness, but in that moment, Diaz collided with the earth, his fall broken by the man I'd tripped.

I silently thanked Soa that Melbu Frahma hadn't thought to build a spike trap into his floor plan.

"Outta the way!" I barked, back in my role as Commander of the Guard. "Nothing to see here! Outta the way!"

I marched forward and stood over Diaz, glancing down at him. His head and lip were bleeding, and his eyes shifted around like he was slowly drifting from consciousness, but he was definitely alive.

I looked up at the balcony. Melbu Frahma gripped the railing, his knuckles white and his face set in an expression of utter hatred. He leaned outward, like he was half-tempted to hurl himself after Diaz and finish the job.

Thinking quickly, I knelt down on one knee.

"Your Royal Authority, Sir," I began. "What would you have us do with this miscreant? He has clearly upset you, Sir."

"It is not your job to dispose of him, Feld," Frahma growled.

_Think fast, Zieg!_

"Oh, but it is my job, Your Excellency!" I chimed, standing. "Protecting you is what I do, and this fool obviously endangers you. So what shall I do with him?"

Melbu Frahma straightened, but stayed quiet. He narrowed his eyes at me, probably thinking about sending a fireball our way and killing us all.

"Put him to death," Frahma barked suddenly.

My stomach somersaulted but I remained calm. I'd expected this of him.

"But Sir, don't you see? A sentence of death is what he desires!" I said. "Isn't it why he threw himself over the banister? To avoid death at your hands?"

Melbu Frahma appeared to consider this. His expression betrayed his emotions; the rage slowly faded to irritation. I was making an impression.

"Go on," he grunted.

"Well death is what he wants! To join his family! Wouldn't it be more prudent to keep him alive? Torture him for the rest of his life for the grief he's caused you?"

Melbu Frahma's eyes locked on mine, studying me. I fought to maintain my composure. Diaz's future—and mine—rested on my ability to swindle the Wingly dictator. We stayed like that for several minutes, staring at each other. Finally, Frahma relaxed.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet," he mused. "Diehl obviously deserves commendation for seeing your potential. Perhaps I have overlooked it. Your logic is impressive, Feld."

Then, with a wave of his hand, Frahma dismissed the other guards and milling bodies. His gaze fell back to me, a crooked smile on his face.

"Fine. I won't kill Diaz—" he began. I breathed a small sigh of relief. "—but he's as good as dead where I _will_ send him."

My heart leapt into my throat. "And where is that?" I squeaked.

Frahma's lips peeled back to reveal his teeth, a menacing, haunting grin.

"The Coliseum … as bait."

* * *

If the first meeting with Diaz had changed my life, the second one changed my direction.

I started considering my own freedom: my past and how life had been before the chains were fastened around my pride. Call me a patriot, but I'd thrown myself into Diaz's cause following his escape. I never heard from him, whether he'd gotten away or not, but I assumed. Hoped.

I'd wanted to unbuckle him from that cart. To throw his puny form over my shoulder and take off for the hills…but I knew it wasn't possible. Diaz had to escape first. One missing slave was enough, but two? Unthinkable. He'd have to rely on his own devices to obtain freedom.

_Diaz will come back for us,_ I thought, heading back to Kadessa following Diaz's trial. _He will. We just have to trust him._

There was that word again. Trust. I didn't know what it meant. Never had, since that day my family died. But as I left Diaz at the Great Court of Zenebatos and turned back toward Kadessa, I realized that, for once, I had no control over the situation. I couldn't use my sword or speed or battle tactics. I couldn't connive and swindle people to get what I wanted. No, I had to sit back, wait and _trust_ someone. It was scary. But I figured it was a whole lot less scary than what was gonna come.

I guess I'd always realized I would be risking my own life to rescue Diaz's. I knew it would be dangerous and probably self-sacrificing, but somewhere, some other part of me said it would be worth it. Never once had I thought twice. I'd just done it. But standing before the face of Melbu Frahma and his court made me wonder… rethink…regret.

I returned the guard uniform and went about my usual business like nothing had ever happened. Nobody said a word to me about Diaz, and I thought we'd gotten away with the charade. But then, about a week after the slave train had descended to the valley below Kadessa, all hell broke loose.

* * *

It wasn't a week later that Frahma travelled to Zenebatos, to oversee the Law Production Facility's bi-annual evaluation, and I was forced to tag along as Head of the Advance Guard. Frahma was more pleasant and agreeable than I'd ever seen him. I was convinced his mood was a direct result of that he had no idea that slaves had escaped—and more importantly, who the escapees' leader was—and my guess was confirmed that very trip.

The journey there was relatively uneventful, except for a battle or two against a spiky beetle or a sandworm, as we edged around the Death Frontier. I found myself thinking of Diaz as we passed. Had he gotten away? The party would have gone that way, and I wondered if my sudden friend were now wandering the desert aimlessly …

_Don't think of it, Zieg. Focus. You've got your own problems now._

Instead of waiting at the city gate, as was customary for an Advance Guard team, Frahma decided he wanted me and Kallan to follow him around all day in case someone decided to spontaneously exert a terrorist attack on him. Somehow, I wished they would.

Upon entering the gates in the valley below, we took a teleporter into the city, where some yahoo announced Frahma's presence and everyone started bowing to him like subservient ignoramuses bound to a god's pleasure. We walked on, however, right to the Old City, where flying discs were still the main mode of transportation and little robot creatures called laptos informed everyone of the latest law information.

"Ahh," Frahma said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcome as we entered the Legislation Facility. "The heartbeat of true work ethic …"

Numerous laptos flitted about, buzzing, squeaking and mumbling in their electronic voices, discussing and announcing the various new laws designed to oppress Humans and elevate Wingly status. Calmly, Frahma walked about the place, looking here and there, inspecting the laptos and their diligence, and they ignored him as if he weren't there. I couldn't decide if it were out of deference to him or due to objectivity about their jobs and their existence.

/… _LAW REGARDING HUMAN OWNERSHIP OF PROPERTY_./

/ _NO DATA INPUT RECOGNIZED_./

/…_THUS, LAW STATUS UNCHANGED. NEXT DELIBERATION_./

/ _WINGLY VENERATION LAW_./

/ _ANY OBJECTIONS? … NONE, THUS, WINGLY VENERATION WILL BE ENFORCED IN ALL CITIES. NEXT DELIBERATION_./

"Excuse me," Frahma said, finally. The laptos stopped buzzing and paused long enough to regard him as small puppies observe their owner at a command.

"I'd like to know the status of several laws, in particular, one regarding the sentencing of a Human slave named Diaz."

The head administrative lapto buzzed and whirred for a moment, collecting information in his databases. Finally, he spun and spoke.

/ _HUMAN SLAVE DIAZ … LAW ALTERED SIX DAYS AGO. SENTENCING TO MAGICAL CITY, AGLIS_./

"Pardon?" Frahma narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, one ear closer to the lapto, as if he were hard of hearing.

The lapto repeated itself.

"But I sentenced him to the Coliseum!" Frahma protested, growing more irritated by the second.

/ _NO INTEREST IN 'COLISEUM.' INTEREST ONLY IN COMPLIANCE WITH THE LAW_./

Frahma was about to blow a fuse when one of his many aides ran in, bowing deeply and ruffling a sheaf of papers in his arms.

"What is it?" Frahma barked, annoyed.

"S,sorry, Y,Your Authority, Sir ... we have a situation," the scrawny Wingly said. "Seven Human slaves escaped into the Death Frontier yesterday. Rumor has it that they're setting up a band of resistance on the edge of the northern re—"

"I don't care about rumors, Grior! And right now, I could care less about any escapees! I've got more important things on my mind! I've just discovered that these robot _idiots_—" Frahma made sure to steal a dirty look at the laptos over his shoulder. "—failed to perform their duties properly and miscalculated my order to have Diaz sent to the Coliseum."

"See, that's just it, Your Excellency," Grior whined, looking anywhere but at the Wingly emperor. He looked sick at the notion of being the one to bear the bad news. "… Diaz led the escape."

"WHAT?!"

Grior scampered out of the room as quickly as he'd arrived, no doubt in fear for his life in the wake of Frahma's fury. And that's when I knew that Frahma knew. He spun around, his eyes wide and teeth bared in a grimace, and he sent me a deadly glare. One that told me I was Suspect Number One.

* * *

"It's gotta be Feld. He's the only one I ever saw hanging around that guy."

"You really saw him, Jeffers?"

"Nah, but Kallan and Flavius did, and that's good enough for me!"

"Well, I guess …"

"And you know he used to be free, right?"

"I, I guess so—"

"It basically means he did it! Only a man with a taste of freedom would have the gall to help a slave escape!"

I'd really only caught the tail end of the conversation, but it had been more than enough to know they were talking about me. Only one Guardsman—hell, only one slave I knew of—had once been a free man, and that man was me.

"I wouldn't spread rumors, if I were you, Jeffers," I warned, coming around the corner.

He shot me look. "It's not a rumor if it's true."

"The fact that I was once free does not, in itself, incriminate me."

"Your lack of defense sure does."

My heart skipped a beat. "That doesn't mean anything. Conflict resolution isn't one of my strong points. I'd rather let my sword decide."

"Pfft. Please, Zieg … everyone knows that Guard Commander position should have been mine. You're nothing but a kid. A piss-on. A know-nothing, nobody."

"You know what?" I snapped, quickly growing annoyed. "Go to hell. I'm not sure they'll even take you down there. You sicken me. You're a liar and a bastard and a poor excuse for a Human. You'd lick the Winglies' asses if they'd let you."

Jeffers narrowed his eyes at me, as if evaluating me for the best place to stick his insult.

"You basically just did yourself in. Such pride in yourself! I'd venture to say that you're proud of your part in Diaz's escape. You wanted it. You guys were buddies. And I'm not afraid to tell Frahma, either—"

"Don't you dare—"

"I've half a mind to! It'd put you in your place!"

"I don't have to listen to this!"

"Whatever. Your fighting ability isn't even a tenth of Flavius' ability."

"Insulting is a child's game, Jeffers!"

"Oh? Well then … your sister fucks donkeys, Feld."

I clenched my fists, tensing my muscles to prepare for that first swing, but instead, I dropped my arms to my side, thrust my chin up, and stormed out of the room.

Rather than lose my temper over something silly, as I used to, I made my way outside, where I sat on the front stoop of the bunkhouse, the rickety wooden boards creaking with my every movement. The sky was just growing dusky as the sun sank below the horizon. The moons were full, resplendent and shimmery against the inky darkness. Stars began to flicker here and there, and above it all hung the Never-Setting Moon, the great abomination that seemed to hover over Humans' very existence, boasting the great Winglies' power.

I'd heard the stories just like everyone else. That it wasn't really a moon, just a symbol of Melbu Frahma's all-encompassing glory. That he'd sealed off some god and was now the supreme ruler of the universe. Whatever, it was all bullshit. More propaganda to tout their supremacy and oppress the rest of the world.

Silently, I regarded the stars and found myself fingering the necklace I wore beneath my shirt. I'd forgotten about it in the chaos of the past few years, actually. It was a simple piece of jewelry made of onyx beads and the teeth of a berserk mouse, a relic passed to me from my father, who'd gotten it from his grandfather. He'd lived in the far east of Endiness. Far from the oppression when it began. It's probably why my family remained free for so long.

I'd added my own flair to the necklace, however, after the tragedy that befell my family. I'd lost them all to the bastard Winglies. But my little brother … That was the worst. They'd dashed his brains out on the streets of Mirr. I buried him. At the age of nine, I buried my little brother … and snipped a lock of his hair as a token of remembrance and revenge. Remnants of the hair now wound themselves between the teeth and beads, sticking out at odd angles like miniature porcupine quills, pressing their ends into the flesh of my neck as a constant reminder of the torture endured at the hands of Winglies.

I would've sat there and played word games all night. I didn't mind the insults; I could take it. I was used to it. But I could've punched Jeffers for insulting my family the way he did. Especially my sister. I loved Sarai and I had no way of healing my heart's ache for her. She was lost forever … to me and the world. I didn't have tokens for her or my mother and father. Jasper's hair was my only link to what I used to have and be. And I was damned if I wouldn't allow myself to have and be that again.

* * *

Not a week later, I caught a glimpse of a newspaper article brought into the bunkhouse lounge by an overly exuberant Rufus.

"Guys! Come take a look!" he shouted.

I knew how to read. My mother taught me, though she and Sarai read me stories more often. But the skill came in handy. I just had to play dumb around the Winglies.

A couple of the guys came forward, including myself.

"What do you make o' this?" Rufus said, shoving the newspaper my way.

The front page was taken up by a picture of Diaz and an article titled: Convicted Slave Escapes. The subtitle read: Biggest escape in a decade believed to be the work of several slaves.

"Gimme that!"

I snatched the paper from the kid's hands and held it before me. It didn't take reading the whole article for me to realize that the gig was up. The picture was an old portrait of Diaz, a young man with neatly-trimmed facial hair and well-kept clothes. He wasn't smiling, and I silently tried to convince myself that, wherever he was, he was smiling now. The gist of the article claimed that Wingly law enforcement had identified several suspects in the crime, something significantly difficult because Diaz's only known accomplices were dead.

My heart leapt into my throat and I struggled to swallow it down.

_Don't let 'em see you upset, Zieg, _I thought._ Everyone will know it's you …_

"What trash!" I snapped, tossing the paper over my shoulder. "The only reason they print this garbage is to make us think they still have us by our necks!"

Rufus and the others stared at me, like I'd just tossed their hope away. I probably did, but I didn't care. I had to save my own skin first.

Finally, Jeffers reached down and swiped the paper off the floor. "They _do_ have us by the neck, Zieg," he snapped. "And anyone who denies it is a fool! This Diaz character is lucky if he's still alive!"

I clenched my fists and thought about punching Jeffers in his eye, but quickly turned away and stomped off to my bunk instead. I went to sleep that night, cowering in my bed and tossing around from nightmares of Wingly torture. I'd never endured it myself, but the things Diaz and others had told me scared the shit outta me. I was scared to eat, think, or appear outside the bunkhouse. I looked over my shoulder constantly. But the real reason I was scared was because I was unprepared. I knew how it would end. It's the only way it could: in death, and I wasn't ready.

For the next few days, I kept the newspaper with me, tucked under an arm or in my jacket. I was afraid to let it out of my sight, should one of the other guards catch me with it and figure out my ruse. I couldn't trust them anymore. Not a one of them. Not even Rufus. I was back to the old Zieg; the one who wouldn't trust himself if he didn't have to for survival.

I read the paper again and again, trying desperately to see some way out of it, to protect myself from what I was sure was my doom. I searched through the text to find some indication that Frahma's people weren't after me but somebody else. That maybe they were searching in vain for Diaz. But nothing came to me. I knew I needed to find a way out for myself … and soon.

About four days after the newspaper had come to my attention, I thought I had everything figured out. I'd made a plan, careful to keep my tracks covered, and put it into action the following night.

My only way out was to remove what stood in my way to freedom. Err, the someone who stood in my way, rather, and that was Jeffers. He'd threatened to spill the beans, and I wouldn't have put it past him … but I also wasn't about to get caught.

I finally settled on arson as a route to escape. Burning my home for the past six years to the ground. It was dangerous and foolhardy but the perfect way out. I wouldn't tell anyone, and they'd all be in bed when I set the fire. By morning there wouldn't be anything left. Of course, I wasn't really accounting for Human perception, and I allowed that there was a chance they'd get out alive, but it didn't matter. I'd be long gone by then.

So that night, I waited for everyone to hit the hay. It seemed like I sat there for an eternity. Rufus insisted that he wasn't tired, yet he continually nodded off in the lounge chair, and Kallan sat up until one in the morning, reading some bullshit book they allowed him. But eventually everyone had retired except for me, and I'd gone outside, taking my knapsack and my arson supplies. Dodging the spotlights they had trained on the barracks, I ran to my designated temporary hideout and set my supplies in a hole I'd dug a few days prior, then made my way back to the barracks.

The building set off the ground on cinderblock supports, with rickety wooden steps to the porch. It looked like something out of the traditional eastern storybooks my mother used to read to me as a kid. Quickly, I shoved countless torn bits of newspaper and kindling into the space beneath the house, then moved to the windows. I made sure to remain out of sight, but at each window, I placed a rag I'd soaked in torch oil. They would catch fire easily once the blaze reached the sides of the building, and they'd keep the fire burning into the night.

Finally, I took out the lighter I'd stolen from Lucius Diehl, set the newspapers ablaze, and launched myself out of the way, darting up the hillside and into the forest glade to my hideout, where I could watch over the scene and observe my work. Hopefully, it would provide the distraction I needed to hightail it outta there.

An hour later, I heard screams. I couldn't bring myself to watch their terror, but I understood it just the same by listening. It was terrible. I assumed they got out. Except for Jeffers. He could burn in hell for all I cared. A half hour after that, the blaze reached the windows, though I couldn't see it, the area was so engulfed with thick black smoke. The blaze picked up, fueled by the lamp oil. Another hour later, Cassius Morrell arrived to help extinguish the blaze, along with a couple of water-elemental Winglies who could draw from the power of water out of thin air. They extinguished the blaze by dawn, but it did virtually nothing. The bunkhouse was left a smoking, smoldering pile of charred wood and ash.

I stood and picked my way to the hills outside Kadessa, walking slowly but assuredly. I'd worry about how to get to the ground below later, after I was sure.

I made it to my semi-permanent escape that evening. It was about two miles outside of town, and just enough out of the way that the authorities would have difficulty getting to me without me noticing. I hunted, I gathered, and I lived off the fat of the land, as Soa had once intended the Human race to do. I knew my sword would give me away, and though I was clumsy with a bow and arrows, I killed enough to keep me alive. A stream ran down the hillside nearby, where I got fresh water, and I had adequate knowledge of edible plants from my childhood to get me by.

Too bad it was all for naught.

It was actually kind of stupid, how they caught me. They came into my hideout in the middle of the night a week later, tied me up, drugged me and dragged me out. Simple. Stupid. I was expecting something fantastic and spectacular. Maybe that was my downfall. I'd probably led them right to me without knowing it. Perhaps they weren't the stupid ones.

* * *

So, I wound up before Melbu Frahma, Dorian Thayus and Ignatius Faust. A handful of guards held taut the ropes fastened around my neck, wrists and knees, meant to hold me in check so I didn't leap forward and chew the necks right out of their leaders. But none of them looked afraid of me. Especially Frahma. He just wore a look of distaste.

"I'm not surprised you're before me, _Feld_," he said. His voice was like honey, and the mocking emphasis he placed on my last name made me cringe. He probably meant it to do that.

"I should've guessed it was you when you begged for that bastard's life—" He flashed a wicked smile and raised his eyebrows at me. "—Ah wait. I did."

I grunted my response. I had nothing to say to him. … At least, nothing coherent.

"You think you've outsmarted me," Frahma continued. "You think you've pulled the wool over my eyes, but oh no … you're mistaken. So very mistaken—"

He grinned at me again. I wanted to throw up or kick him in the groin.

"—You played right into my scheme, Feld. You bought my bluff and tore after Diaz just like I knew you would. You forget that I knew everything about your little '_freedom_' discussion. I knew what the two of you were up to. And here's another little secret: I sent Lucius to Zenebatos with you as his guard because I _knew_ you'd attempt to change my order."

My stomach did a flip and I fought back tears of anger. The same emotions I felt at my family's death bubbled to the surface now.

"You did it. I didn't expect you to be so obviously brainless, but I shouldn't have second-guessed myself. You Humans are so incredibly dull. So stupid. And you're the cream of the crop, Zieg. You changed the order and incriminated yourself."

Frahma laughed wickedly as if the whole situation was a huge joke to him

"… So yes," he said, his voice again silky, "Diaz got away, but you didn't … and you never will."

I only narrowed my eyes, hoping they didn't betray my real emotions. I hated the man, yes, but more than that, I wished him dead, and I wanted to be the man to kill him.

Frahma turned to Thayus. "Dorian, how do you usually treat uppity servants who cause trouble, aid and abet your enemies and defy your authority?"

Thayus shivered visibly and shoved his thick, horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I, I … I have them beheaded, Your Excellency, Sir."

Frahma nodded exaggeratedly and said, "Ah, a fitting punishment." He turned to Faust. "Ignatius, what would you recommend?"

The old, bearded Wingly general answered, "I sentence them to a life in the labor fields."

Frahma nodded again. "Also acceptable. But I think—" He turned to face me again and narrowed his eyes. "—that it's about time we punished you like the heathen you are."

I hocked a loogie and spit it at him.

Rage suddenly filled the room, and before I knew what hit me, a blast from a fireball slammed me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I dropped to my knees, but the guards pulled me back to my feet via the ropes. They held them a little tighter now, the hemp grinding into my skin, leaving huge red rashes to match the burn I now wore on my chest. My lungs burned with the effort of maintaining my balance, my chest visibly heaving but my eyes never left Melbu Frahma.

"How easily you fit the stereotype, Feld," the dictator said airily, calm once more.

He smiled crookedly and linked his hands behind his back.

"I should've put Diaz to death, like I wanted. It's what all you filthy Humans deserve. You're nothing but a speck to me. A stain upon the earth. The scourge of civilization. I ought to have you killed. It's the best punishment for crimes of treason. But—"

"Get on with it!" I roared.

The guards jerked on the ropes, choking me. I fought my gag reflex. I didn't care, though; I was prepared to die now, a living sacrifice for our cause. The Human Cause. The dictator whirled on his heel, his robes floating about him like the god he thought he was.

"Well, Feld—" Frahma snapped, "—because Diaz didn't get to enjoy the punishment I'd planned for him, _you_ will."

And before I could say 'boo,' the guards removed the ropes, slapped chains around my wrists and ankles, and led me out of the room, out of the palace, and toward the hulking structure in the distance. The Coliseum …

* * *

And that's how I wound up imprisoned. I wondered why he didn't just send me to the prison hole at Zenebatos or behead me right there. But when I thought about it, it was too clean. Too wrapped-up. Frahma liked loose ends he could play with. And me fighting in Coliseum battles was the perfect loose-end. He could sit back, enjoy my matches, and then claim I was his "favorite," his personal fighter, when I won. And if I lost—if I _died_—well, that was a magical ending for him.

A pair of Wingly guards, covered head-to-toe in heavy armor, cackled as they walked by my cell door.

That's what they did to us in the Coliseum. The bastard Winglies walked down the corridors, rattling cell doors and jeering at us as if we were zoo animals. Then, to make things worse and intimidate us further, the guards wore armor; the fighters and challengers went into battle wearing trousers and boots if they were lucky—their birthday suits if they were not.

"Look at this one here," the short, fat Wingly remarked, pointing at me like I was something to be gawked at. "His element sign's fire … we should set him up against that merman from the other day's battle!"

The taller, svelter Wingly approached my cell, peering at me with a steely glint in his eye.

"Indeed," he said to his buddy. "Wasn't he the commander of Frahma's Advance Guard?"

The fat Wingly nodded, as if I couldn't answer for myself.

Mr. Svelte turned to me. "Funny how the mighty fall," he said, his voice low. It was a fair approximation of Melbu Frahma himself.

"Probably too stupid to maintain the position," Fatty chimed. "After all, brawn usually takes the place of brains."

I chose not to comment on the irony of his statement.

Mockery and ridicule were regular parts of my daily life. I should've been used to it. But today, my patience had already been tested far beyond its limit. I reached through the bars and snatched a fistful of Fatty's shirt collar, hauling him close and bouncing his jowly face off the iron bars of my cell door. He cried out, and I leaned in, pressing my forehead against the bars.

Already the bastard was so afraid, he'd pissed his pants. Laughter rumbled in my chest. I didn't waste my breath saying anything to him. I was going to, but instead I just spit in his face and tossed him away like a crumpled piece of paper. He hit the opposite wall with a 'smack' and toppled to the ground.

Svelte watched the whole scene, apparently amused.

"What the hell, Marvus?" the fat Wingly said, clambering to his feet and rubbing his jaw. "Why didn't you _help_ me, for Soa's sake?"

Marvus sent his friend a glare. "You deserved it, Piol." And turning back to me, he said, "We'll send him into that battle versus the merman tomorrow. … and he'll win."

He held my gaze, and I nodded.

Piol narrowed his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

Marvus stepped back from the door. "I just know. He's strong. Much too strong for a merman. Let's go."

The men turned and continued down the dark corridor.

"You'll never close me in, you bastards!" I barked as they wandered away. "Never!"

But they didn't respond. I shoved away from the door and slumped back onto my pallet of hay, pulling apart the stalks, one-by-one, piece-by-piece. Coliseum battles worked that way. Too bad taking out Winglies didn't.

And all of my rebelling after that fiasco landed me in the Coliseum as a regular fighter. I'd come to understand some things about life this way. _Stand your ground, and you live another day. Don't, and … well, that's the whole purpose of the Coliseum anyway._

I guess Svelte had a point, knowing I'd win the match. I'd been a resident fighter at the Coliseum for nearly two years. My matches drew crowds of thousands or more, and I always came out on top. They knew I would. They made millions in gold placing bets on my success,_ every_ match. Melbu Frahma often claimed my success as his own, bragging that I'd been his commanding Guardsman. What a joke …

I 'spose it's my own fault for getting into this mess, as Diaz had once put it. But honestly, I wouldn't have done a single thing differently. I'd wind up here all over again, if I could. I'd endure everything: the beatings, the threats, the fear … all of it, because somehow, I knew Diaz had escaped. And that he would return for the rest of us, to set us all free.

* * *

With the battle against the merman changed, I would now be facing a much deadlier opponent. The managers had lined up a series of five fights for that day, mine being the final match. The ringmasters led opponents down the corridors in chains, releasing them only at the start of each fight. Judging by the people who were marched past my cell and the howls of the creatures coming from the arena, the first match was between a Giganto and a Minotaur, a formidable fight but one clearly favoring the Giganto. It was really meant only to warm the crowd up. The second pitted a Minintos against a wyvern, a much bloodier and even more one-sided battle. The third match involved a Human woman versus a Wingly warrior; the sound of the woman's screams chilled my bones, and from the raucous cheers of the crowd, she was dead.

I felt my heart rise in my chest, as it always did when my match approached. It was the same feeling I'd gotten before a battle while in the Guard. The same feeling I'd had when running for my life after the fire. The same feeling I'd had when I faced Frahma for my sentencing.

The fourth match featured the magical skills and physical abilities of a Virage. It was a relatively new development, only used once in the arena thus far. I don't know where it came from; the Winglies had just seemed to pull him out of thin air a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't seen the thing up close, and I'm not sure I wanted to. It was huge, ugly, and even scarier than Melbu Frahma. It could shoot deadly beams of light from its forehead by sucking up your life force and firing it back at you. It could smash you under one of its monstrous, clawed hands with one blow. It wrought cold and calculated destruction. And when the explosions and rumbling finally stopped and the Virage stomped out of the arena, the fourth match ended.

I was up.

The ringmaster came to my cell with a guard, who was probably there to make sure I didn't try anything funny. But I was used to this drill. The ringmaster clamped my wrists and ankles in shackles. I would be handed my trusty broadsword when we entered the arena.

"You're the underdog in this fight, Feld," the ringmaster whispered as we shuffled down the corridor.

I looked at him. He was a nice guy. One of the few Winglies who were. He tried to give me a leg up sometimes when he felt the match wasn't fair or to my advantage. I probably owed some of my success to him.

"They've got bets seven-to-one against you," he went on. "You're up for a hell of a fight here, boy."

Seven-to-one against?! Those odds usually worked the opposite way …

_This must be one serious monster_, I thought.

We emerged from the corridor and entered the holding chamber. It was basically a huge box on either end of the arena with a slatted door on each side. One end led into the corridor from which we'd just come, and the other into the arena. Various pieces of equipment and accoutrements lined the walls for the participants' use—or not—as the Winglies saw fit. It was here that we waited for the announcer to introduce the match. His voice boomed across the expanse of the Coliseum, magnified through magic.

"Introducing our final match, the coups de gras, the event you've all been waiting for …"

A roar went up from the crowd. I imagined the Winglies jeering and throwing food items into the ring. My knees shook and my stomach was turning flip-flops. The ringmaster strapped the leather bandolier to my chest; it was my only protection and according to the arena masters, made me 'look the part.' It usually gave me confidence to run into battle barely protected and still come out the victor. To prove my ability with the sword alone. Before, they hadn't even allowed me the sword. I'd fought bare-fisted, besting gnomes, mermen, manticores, scud sharks … _anything_, all by punching them on the nose and flailing kicks. At some point, they'd allowed me to wield a sword in fights against bigger and more interesting beings, but I'd never been allowed much physical protection. Today, however, I suddenly and desperately wished I had my guardsmen's armor.

"You ready?" the ringmaster asked.

I nodded.

"Good. Be brave."

He handed me my sword and unlocked my shackles. The chains dropped to the dirt with a clatter.

"Can't you tell me what I'm fighting?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Sorry, kid. Under strict orders this time. This is the biggest match of the season. We can't screw this up."

"What do you …?"

But the Wingly man scurried away as he was taught, just in case I decided to take a swing at him. I was left waiting for my entrance without answers.

Then, the announcer's booming voice sounded again. "Introducing the infamous Zieg Feld, former commander of the Royal Advance Guard and the reputed seventy-eight time champion!"

Half the crowd burst into shouts and cheers, while the other half, the half betting against me, booed and hissed. I slowly made my way to the center of the ring. I didn't look up; I had to keep my resolve, regardless of what this thing was. I had to hold my ground … or I would die.

With my gaze locked on the slatted gate at the opposite end of the arena, I took my battle stance, bringing my sword upright and close to my shoulder, ready to strike.

The ground shook suddenly, as if something heavy were taking lumbering steps toward the gate. I gripped my sword hilt a little harder. Was it a Giganto? The Virage coming back for another round?

A hulking shadow appeared on the left wall and the gate ground open. The earth-shaking footsteps continued, growing louder, and out of the opposite entrance, my opponent emerged, a creature so rare and terrifying, I nearly shit my pants right there.

The crowd erupted, collectively jumping from their seats. The dragon roared in response.

By the looks of it, the beast was probably thunder-elemental, its scales a bright violet and the spines along its back long and pointed upward like lightning rods. It didn't have an extensive neck or a very definite head. The only thing that told me its head from its ass was its tail, which was long and thick with a flat, spiked end.

The thing charged at me, and all I could think to do was run.

The crowd booed, but I made it to the opposite end of the arena, whirling around to face my opponent just in time. The dragon lumbered forward, its beady eyes focused on the idea of its next meal.

I threw myself to the ground and curled into a ball. The dragon sailed right over me, nearly trampling me beneath its claws. I was up and off before the beast had even hit the wall, but when he did, a sickening crack reverberated throughout the arena. But he didn't give up. He shook himself of the rock and dust, and turned around, sniffing the air.

I turned and brought my sword up again. The dragon screeched and ran at me, now thoroughly irritated. He charged the air with electricity, disarming me with a summoned thunderbolt; it struck right in front of me without warning. I was blown backward, landing in the dirt several yards from where I'd been standing. Pain shot through my middle; cracked ribs, probably, and I struggled to clear my head before the dragon made a meal of me. Faintly, I heard the din of the roaring crowd and I thought for a moment that this would be my final match.

_No. Get a hold of yourself, Zieg,_ I thought.

I opened my eyes, and forced myself up on an elbow. The dragon was rooting around in the dirt where I'd first dropped. It hadn't seen my flight through the air. Obviously, it had poor eyesight and relied on its sense of smell to hunt and kill.

_Hmm … I can work with this._

I got to my feet and picked up my sword. Cupping my hand around my mouth, I shouted, "Over here, you big stupid animal!"

The dragon jerked its head my direction and roared, lunging. It lumbered forward again, a shuffling, awkward gait sort of like one belonging to a large, lame dog. I waited for it, then threw myself out of its path, ducked, and rolled away.

Catching my scent, the dragon followed me, and I ran him straight into the wall again. The arena walls vibrated with the echo of his howl, and I darted off. Again, he followed. I stopped in the center of the ring, brandishing my sword and making a lot of sudden movements. I hoped the dragon's vision was as poor as I thought it was, and took a flying leap right toward him as he approached.

As I expected, he didn't see the blow coming until it was too late. My feet landed squarely between his eyes. I dropped to the ground and rolled out of the dragon's way as it charged forward blindly. The beast paused to rub his aching head against a front leg, and then he was once more on the warpath, picking up my scent and chasing after me. He howled in frustration and sent a beam of lightning rocketing my way. It flew overhead, singeing my hair, but the dragon shot another and another. The second struck me in the leg, tracing a wicked, arcing burn on my calf, but it didn't deter me. The third, however, hit the dirt in front of me and threw me off balance. I toppled to the side and landed hard.

But before I could get up, the dragon's frightening tail came down, landing hard on my legs. He pinned me at the knees. I suddenly lay there, struggling against the beast's will like a squashed bug. At first, I thought my legs were broken, but it was just from the pressure of his tail.

I placed my hands in the dirt, fighting to pull my legs free, but they didn't budge. My toes pushed against the ground, but still, no movement. And then I saw it. My sword had skittered away when I fell. It lay a few feet from me, just out of reach. I flopped onto my belly and stretched toward my weapon. My fingers tapped it, the sword rocked once … and slid just a little further away.

_Damn._

The dragon turned, looming above me, its massive jaws open to receive its meal reward. Drool slopped onto me by the liter. I vaguely heard the collective gasp of the crowd.

_Just a little further, _I thought._ Just a little … Ugh! Come on!_

I continued to reach for my sword, my fingertips grazing the leather-wrapped hilt.

_If I could just tip it a bit …_

The dragon's breath puffed against my neck, the foul stench reeking from his mouth and curling around my throat. I coughed, but still struggled.

_Come on, come on … just a little further …_

The dragon roared and shoved its head at my neck. But at the same instant, I saw a good-sized stone, picked it up and hurled it to the left. A second later, it hit the dirt with a 'smack.' The dragon whipped his head around, temporarily distracted; my little decoy gave me just enough time to flip onto my back, and I suddenly possessed an extra inch of reach. My fingers closed around my sword's hilt.

The dragon realized what was going on and he jerked toward me, but it was too late. As he swiveled his head back, I lunged, shoving my sword through his scales, flesh and muscle, clear through to the other side of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying onto my chest, arm and face.

I no longer heard the crowd, just the roaring in my ears. The sound of my heart slamming in my chest, pumping blood and adrenaline to all my limbs. This was the kind of moment I lived for while in the Guard. The taste of blood on my lips, the feel of my sword as I drove it through an enemy. The feel of survival.

I withdrew the sword and the dragon howled again, this time in pain. But I was on a roll. Spurred onward, I dragged myself to my knees, shoved the beast's tail away and got to my feet. I whirled and sliced through the sinew of the dragon's side. He dove for me, snapping his jaws and slicing my shoulder and arm, but I parried, lunging toward his chest. My blow connected, and I thrust in my sword to the hilt. More blood poured out. I took the sword's hilt and pulled downward, drawing a cruel red line in the dragon's great front.

The dragon's agonized howls didn't stop, but I kept my pace. Blow after blow, I struck, pouring out my frustration and anger with his blood. Finally, my energy and strength sapped, I yanked my sword from the dragon's chest, rolling out from under him as he crashed to the ground.

The crowd gasped again and the arena went completely silent. I just lay there for a moment, reveling in the thought that I had just singlehandedly killed a dragon.

_They expected me to die, _I thought._ It was my time to die … and I didn't. I can't. Not yet._

A hushed murmur erupted through the stands, and I knew my moment had come. I climbed to my knees, shoving my sword tip-down into the belly of the dragon for leverage. I pulled myself to my feet, winded … but victorious. Slowly, I raised my arm above my head. The crowd went ballistic.

"And the victor is Zieg Feld, now seventy-nine time champ!" the announcer screamed. "Let's hear it for the 'Young Flame!'"

On and on the crowd cheered. Money was collected and distributed to bet winners. But as the seats began to clear, as straps were applied to the dragon's body to drag it from the arena, and before the guards could accost me, I noticed something. A small, glittering sphere in the dirt near the dragon's head. I walked over and bent down to inspect it. It was a rich shade of purple, with a darker, flat disc inside, like a marble. I picked it up; it wasn't heavy or large. Just a little trinket. I wondered what it was or did, but shoved it into my pocket regardless. The spoils of war for the victor …

* * *

I first saw her leaving the seating area with that bitchy daughter of Frahma's.

She didn't see me. She was minding the children, the small one on her hip, the next oldest hanging onto her hand, and the eldest skipping at her side, babbling about something stupid, judging by the look on her face. She followed her mistress quietly and placidly, dressed fashionably for a servant, in a short-cut romper-style tunic with a belt and little dancer's shoes. Her skin was milky-white, a beautiful contrast to the waterfall of black hair down her back, and her tunic revealed mile-long, shapely legs.

I couldn't help it. A catcall escaped my lips.

She glanced my way over her shoulder, lightning in those lavender eyes. She turned up her nose and looked away, like she was too good to talk to me.

_Damn._

I turned my head, trying to look just as uninterested, but it was hard. I looked around the corral-cage where I was enclosed with a couple other Human fighters. It was routine following a match for me to appear in the showcase area, for everyone to gawk at and admire and potentially purchase, but the premium on me was so high no one was willing to pay. The Coliseum owned me, and my situation would probably always remain that way. Besides, no doubt Frahma had spread the word of my shenanigans.

The showcase area consisted of an arcade with an exit to the streets beyond, the corral, and a desk positioned near a wooden post. The post served as a sort of observation deck, where arena masters chained fighters or slaves in order for potential buyers to get a good look at them. It was degrading and humiliating. I, thankfully, had not yet been honored with that 'privilege.'

I sat with my back to the wall, absentmindedly chewing a fingernail and minding my wounds, but before I knew it, one of the Wingly arena masters approached me, grabbed my arm and yanked me off.

"Hey! Whaddaya think you're doin'?!" I snapped.

I tried to dig my heels into the dirt, maybe hold him off, but I'd been robbed of my hobnailed boots. I now possessed only simple sandals, which laced up my legs and barely protected my feet from the elements, let alone gave me any sort of traction. So I fell limp and forced the bastard to use all his strength to maneuver me.

But to my dismay, he held on and dragged me up to the corral fence, chaining me to the observation post. Standing at the purchase table were a few high-ranking male Winglies, a couple slave traders, a smattering of fighter-owners … and Urele Frahma, Melbu's daughter and self-proclaimed Empress of Endiness.

Her amber eyes were trained on me, a crooked smile on her face.

Oh … _God._

She approached slowly, looking me up and down. She walked around the observation post, inspecting my every inch, I assume. Finally, she came back around front and dragged her gaze to my face.

"You're tall," she said.

"And you're not," I replied.

She tipped her head up and laughed. "Ooh, and feisty too … I like that."

I imagine she was trying to work her charms on me, get me to fall in love with her. I'd heard she had a reputation with the Wingly boys. She was one of those people too pretty for their own good, but I wasn't about to fall for it. If she bought me, it would be of her will, not mine.

"I like your muscles," Urele breathed.

"Hunh."

"What's your sign?"

"Fire." … _What's with everyone asking me that?_

"Mmm, fire boys are supposed to be good in bed. I haven't had one yet," the empress replied, raising her perfectly shaped brows. Evidently she didn't care that others could hear.

"Hmph."

"You a virgin? Ever fuck a woman before?"

My eyes and mouth flew open. Urele grinned.

"Ah, so I got a rise out of you. Well, Mr. Feld, I'm not into niceties and romantic bullshit, so I'll cut to the chase," she said, inspecting her manicured nails. Then she brought her hot gaze back to me. "I like you. I don't care what Daddy says. I think you're handsome, and I want you."

I stared at her, probably looking stupid and fresh as a daisy. Too bad I really was.

"So, not a man of many words, huh?" Urele glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in close, so close her nose nearly touched mine. "I've got ways of making ones like you talk, if you catch my drift." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she leaned in even closer. "Though I don't mind if you grunt like that between the sheets." She turned her face up, kissed me softly on the jaw, then pulled away and winked.

In the time it took me to heave a sigh, the papers were signed and I became a slave again. Urele Frahma bought me for thirty thousand gold … as a bed buddy.

* * *

Urele was pretty. There was no doubt about it. Pretty, privileged and spoiled. From a short history given me by another of her servants, she got along well with her father, the dispute over me their only real disagreement. Frahma gave his daughter whatever she wanted, even the title of Empress when her mother passed on, a title that should have gone to Charle. Frahma overlooked Urele's brazen nature and ignored her public affairs with Humans and Winglies alike, but it was a popular rumor that the woman's youngest daughter, Marcella, was actually half-Human.

Urele was married to the Wingly Prime Minister, Dorian Thayus, but she had refused to take his name and instead remained Urele Frahma, choosing to flaunt her relation to the Wingly dictator. It was an arranged marriage, and evidently a match Urele disagreed with. Thayus was fifteen years her senior, and though they'd had three children together, he too allowed her to have her own way, enabling the affairs and turning the other cheek.

I moved into her abode the day following my sale. It was easy. I didn't have any real personal belongings. And damn, it was nice to sleep in a decent bed.

I lived in an open bedchamber with five other male servants. One was a butler, for sure, because he dressed nicely and talked down to the rest of us. I later heard he had been engaged to Diaz's daughter Beatta, so it's no wonder why he was so angry all the time. Another of the slaves I remembered from the Advance Guard, and another was the Prime Minister's 'personal assistant' (Mr. Thayus didn't like the word footman, I guess). One man worked in the kitchen, and the other, I quickly learned, was another of Urele's sexual partners, a man named Max.

The two of us weren't exactly friendly (Urele probably wanted us to become rivals for her affections), but he gave me useful information and "rules" for life under Ms. Frahma's roof. It'd gone a little like this:

1) Only come when she calls for you.

2) Even if sex with her is horrible, act like you love it. Otherwise, she'll beat the hell out of you.

3) Don't finish before her. If you do, she'll whip you.

4) Let her undress herself, and you, preferably. Again, if you don't, get used to the whip.

and 5) Speak of no other woman in her presence.

Anyway, Urele was pretty. Short and feminine, with thick, wavy platinum hair and long eyelashes. She was petite but curvy, and had that "bad girl" vibe most guys thought was hot. If I didn't focus on the fact that she was scary and powerful as hell, I trusted myself to get through bedding her.

My first night with her was about a week after I'd moved in. She wanted to let the dust settle before screwing me, probably.

She called for me after dinner that night, and I approached her room, knocking for permission to enter, as I'd been instructed. Max had been whipped after his first night with her (he'd been virginal as Soa's mother); he told me point-blank he'd gone quick. So I made sure to spend some time with Lefty before heading to Urele's room to avoid the same fate.

Urele met me at the door, dressed in a short, gauzy chemise and a satin kimono. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but honestly, I was grateful. It didn't take much work for my heart to start racing, and I was ready to go before she even got my pants off.

Urele smiled. "Nice to see you, Zieg," she said, and yanked me into the room.

Immediately, she engulfed me in a stifling kiss, her teeth and tongue all over me. It wasn't long before she'd pulled me onto the bed and stripped us both down. She was just as pretty underneath her clothes. She must've been pretty pleased with me too, 'cause she put her mouth on me right away. If I'd had any trouble with arousal, it woulda been out the door now.

From there it was all moans, groans and giggles.

Pretty much most of what she said to me as we did it was gushing over how big I felt, how strong I was, how good I was in bed, blah blah blah …

Bullshit. It sucked.

I'd lost my erection twice, she'd howled like a dog, and Lefty hadn't proved so useful after all. But I kept a tight rein on myself, giving her the impression that she'd finished first.

The sex didn't suck nearly as bad as the night's end, though. Urele wanted to cuddle afterward, a complete turnaround from her affirmation that "romance was bullshit." And I, warm and sleepy, let my tongue slip.

"So, uh … who's that nursemaid of yours?" I asked, casually.

"Who?" Urele sat up from where she'd had her head on my chest. She looked annoyed.

I should've shut up then, but I wasn't thinking, and Rule Number Five flew right out the window.

"The woman watching your children," I said. "What's her name?"

Urele pulled away from me, frowning. She suddenly looked like the spoiled child she was.

"Excuse me?" she squeaked. "Did Maxwell not tell you my rules?"

"Huh?"

"Get on your knees!" she demanded, pointing at the floor.

"What?" I sat there, stunned and slack-jawed.

"On … your … KNEES!" she screamed.

I scrambled to the floor and hunched over, clamping my legs together in case she got it in her head to castrate me. I couldn't see her face, but I bet Urele was grinning. She brought out her infamous little cane whip and struck me. It didn't hurt. Not how she wanted it to, anyway.

She beat me again and again, laughing wildly and moaning between strikes.

_Damn sadist_, I thought.

After the twelfth blow, I was annoyed. Not so much because it hurt; it felt like she was slapping me with a wet noodle. I was just annoyed. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the whip right from her hands, and broke it over my knee. She stared at me, wide-eyed. Obviously no one had contested her before.

"My father should have put you to death," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

I felt like laughing at how childish she really was, but instead narrowed my eyes, daring her to do something. But the anger on her face quickly faded to coyness and she smiled.

"Lucky for you I like spunk," she purred.

And she threw me back on the bed, climbed on top and rode me like a favorite rocking horse.

* * *

Unfortunately, I quickly became Urele's favorite. She called for me nearly every other night, and sometimes two nights in a row or more. Following one of the encounters, I had hurried to exit the room while Urele was napping, and who should I bump into but that pretty nursemaid.

"Hey," I said lamely, buttoning my pants.

I nodded at her and scurried off, avoiding any eye contact. It was already humiliating enough to be servicing the Empress every night. I didn't want her to see me blushing. But I felt her eyes boring into my back the entire way to my quarters.

"What's the matter with you?" Max asked, as I stormed to my bed and flopped onto it, face first.

"Nuthin'."

He frowned. "Come on. You smell like sex and disappointment. What's up?"

I sat up, narrowing my eyes. "I don't really have to say anything to you," I spat, "because you'll just run back to Urele and tattle on me."

Max shrugged and turned back to the game of cards he was playing against himself.

"Hey, suit yourself," he said. "You have the upper hand now anyway. Urele's seen me maybe twice in the past two weeks."

"So?"

"So!" He didn't look up from his game. "Zieg, in this world that means I'm no longer interesting enough. And when a sex slave fails to interest, he's disposed of."

A chill ran down my spine. "You think she'll get rid of you?"

This time, Max looked up and pursed his lips. "Not sure. … Maybe. She got rid o' the last guy 'cause he didn't please her anymore."

"Oh."

Max flipped a couple of cards over and set some more down from his deck. I watched for a while, thinking of his comment, and decided that if I didn't dish, I'd probably blow up from unresolved sexual tension.

"It's a girl," I said finally, falling back against the pillows.

"A girl?" Again, Max didn't look up.

"Yeah." I folded my arms over my chest. "The kids' nursemaid."

Max's head jerked up. "What about her?"

I shrugged. "I just saw her when Urele bought me from the arena. She's … Soa, she's _beautiful_."

Max shook his head and laughed. "You're playing with fire there, Zieg."

I glanced at him. "What? Why?"

He set down his deck of cards and swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning on his elbows. I sat up to hear him better.

"You can't get within more'n a foot of her," Max whispered, as though she were right in the room. "Every guy in this place has tried to get near her, and she's chewed them all up and spit 'em out. A real man-eater, that one."

"What's her name?" I asked.

Max's mouth fell open, and he jerked back. "Did you just hear a word I said? It doesn't matter what her name is, dude! She'll kill you!"

I looked away and kicked at the carpet. "Not me."

"Yes you! Do you know that one guy who guards the door at night? The tall one with the beard?"

I shrugged.

"He's screwed everything in here that wasn't nailed down, and even _he_ can't touch Rose. … She's _untouchable_, Zieg. Save yourself while you can." He leaned away and added, "'Sides, Urele doesn't like competition unless it's for her. She'll get jealous."

I didn't really hear anything beyond _Rose_. Now I had a name to put to that beautiful face … I was busy imagining how I'd even begin to talk to her when I felt a hand connect with the side of my head.

"You got it bad, man," Max said, pulling his hand back. "You're in deep."

And his eyes told me he doubted I'd be able to dig myself out.


	4. Determinatio (Determination)

**Chapter Three**

_Determinatio_

"Yah! Tah!"

"Hah! He-yah!"

I jabbed forward with the rapier, its tip nearly missing my opponent's chest. He dodged and turned, bringing his blade toward my head. I ducked and recovered by slicing at his midsection. Again, he moved out of the way and chopped downward. I fell to my knees and rolled out of the way, clambering to my feet and recovering my stance with practiced ease. He came forward, weapon held before him, but slowed as he approached.

It was almost like a dance, the two of us moving in calculated steps to the beat of our sword thrusts.

Toan stopped in his tracks; the arm holding his rapier fell to his side.

"You've improved much, Rose. Much better since I last saw you," he said, removing his mask. His platinum hair stuck out in all directions, matted from the weight of the gear. His darkly tanned skin glistened with sweat, and his amber eyes glittered from the excitement of battle.

I paused and pulled my mask off to wipe the sweat from my brow. A tress of black hair fell onto my forehead, and I brushed it away with my hand, tucking it behind my ear. I gulped some water from the canteen on my belt.

"You've been practicing?" Toan meant it as a question, though I knew he was certain of the answer. I _had_ practiced. I always did.

So I didn't respond. I only pulled my mask back on and took my stance, rapier outstretched. Toan smiled and followed my lead. We began our dance again, his steps mirroring mine. I thrust, he dodged; he jabbed, I ducked.

"Hunh! Hah!"

I swung my rapier at his middle. He moved out of the way and thrust his weapon toward my neck. I blocked with my own weapon and whirled, plunging my rapier toward his chest. He countered, forcing me backward. He advanced, and I failed to counter fast enough.

"Tah! He-yuh!"

"Yah! … Touché!"

"Damn it!"

I'd felt the prick from the end of his rapier and toppled backward. Toan stepped forward, holding the point of his rapier only inches from my throat. I tore off my mask with such force that my hair tumbled out from where I'd tied it back.

"Aha!" Toan cried. "Now I get to ask you a question." He withdrew the sword.

I sat up and dropped my chin into my palm. "Go ahead."

It was our little game. When one of us bested the other in a sparring match, the winner asked the loser a question. Sometimes they were personal, sometimes not. Mostly things about our daily lives. I lost an awful lot, so I was thankful Toan rarely asked personal questions.

"Why did you ask me to train you?" Toan removed his mask and gloves, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.

I smiled. "Why did you agree to it?"

"Hey, I ask the questions today!" Toan laughed and sheathed his rapier. He stuck his gloves in a pocket. "So what is it? What possessed you to ask me for weapons training?"

"I admire your work," I said, plucking at a blade of grass. "I saw what you did for Dorian and wondered if your expertise would work on me."

"That's flattering, but not an answer."

I frowned. "What?"

Toan shrugged and smiled slyly. "It's not an explanation. There's a deeper reason for your request."

"Because I need protection," I said.

Toan narrowed his eyes. He obviously wasn't buying it.

"But why's a Human in need of protection?" he asked. "You're a nanny, Rose. What dangers do you face that you need professional weapons training?"

His question was innocent enough, but its very nature turned me off. He sensed something evil in my past, I could tell, and it's what he really wanted to know. He'd asked questions similar to this. I was able to dodge them in the past, but this one? There was really no way around it.

"Come on," Toan pressed. "You're in the house most of the day, and—"

"It's none of your business," I snapped, standing.

Toan stepped back; his eyes expressed hurt. I looked away, turning my gaze toward the foliage around the practice area. The bushes, trees and flowers hid us from outside eyes. I was reminded of how secret we had to be regarding my training. But unfortunately, the trees could not hide the raw hatred and sorrow I felt each day. They could not hide the constant nakedness I felt around Winglies. I had gotten good at masking it though. I was even more practiced at hiding my own truth than I was at sword play. It made my heart ache.

I sighed and turned around. "I'm sorry, Toan. It's just … I'd just rather not talk about it."

Toan nodded. "I understand. Come on, we'll work on some choreographed attacks. I know how badly you want to learn Demon's Dance!"

Toan grinned broadly and started pulling his gloves back on. I only smiled.

"If it's fine with you, I'd rather quit for the day," I said, and sat on the nearby bench to remove my boots.

"Okay …" Toan's brow bent up in a gesture of concern. "When do you want to practice next?"

"I'll find you."

Toan gave me a sort of half-smile and nodded, but said nothing more. He began shedding his gear, un-strapping the leather vest and shimmying out of the chaps. I watched as he folding everything neatly and placed it into his pack. Finally, he turned to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"It was nice to see you again, Rose. I'll look forward to our next practice session."

He winked at me and gave my shoulder a little squeeze, then slung his bag over his shoulder and moved away. Toan was certainly an appealing man. If he hadn't been a Wingly, I would have allowed myself to flirt back. Instead, I simply waved to him and pushed through the foliage, turning in the direction of the Thayus residence.

The weapons training facility and outdoor practice area weren't far from the Thayus mansion. Their house, nearly fit enough to call a castle, sat atop a grassy knoll overlooking the city below. Grass and foliage were awfully hard to come by in the Winglies' technological society. They preferred the company of machines and fantastic inventions over plants, but somehow, Charle had managed to convince her brother to landscape Kadessa's open terrain.

The Thayus grounds were situated at the foot of the palatial hill and boasted numerous different types of plant species, many of which Charle had cultivated herself. The house itself was constructed of pale pink granite that sparkled in the sunlight, a structural nod to Dorian's preference for the simple and rustic. The semicircular veranda stretched nearly end-to-end on the front of the house, its huge white pillars supporting a balcony above, but despite its historical detailing, the house's infrastructure boasted all the technological advancement Winglies could think of.

Though the Thayus residence was a sight to behold among Kadessa's most fantastic structures, it couldn't hold a candle to the Royal Palace of the Winglies. At night, the castle seemed to glow with a dull purple light, a sight nearly as frightening as it was beautiful. The palace sat on a piece of land separated from the city by a magical bridge, suspended over a drop into nothingness. One had to climb a ridiculous number of stairs and travel through quite a few teleporters just to reach the palace courtyard. From there, one passed over the bridge and through the gates to the palace complex, then climbed more stairs just to reach the front doors. I was thankful the Thayus house only boasted a few flights of steps leading to the front entrance.

Urele met me in the doorway, perfectly manicured hands on her hips. She wore an expression of annoyance, though I knew I would receive no real punishment for lateness.

"Rose, where have you been? I've been calling all over for you!"

"I am very sorry, milady," I said, though I doubted Urele had really been searching very hard for me. She'd likely just returned from an excursion or one of her illicit affairs, and had happened to notice I was gone.

Urele narrowed her eyes. "Well. Just make sure it doesn't happen again. Marcella is awake from her nap. She probably needs changing, and I imagine Mitari is getting into something by now. I haven't seen him for hours!"

_Or days_, I thought, but outwardly I said, "Yes, milady."

I curtsied out of politeness, though I never wore dresses. I preferred tunics for the movement they afforded me. Urele stepped out of the doorway to allow me through and I proceeded upstairs.

Urele's husband, Dorian Thayus, purchased me from the Genesis Tower at Mirr after _that_ episode, and I became the nanny for his youngest child, Marcella. Almost immediately, however, I found my workload increased from simply providing daily care to the newborn Wingly girl. Though I was meant only as a nursemaid for Marcella, I became the nanny to all three of them.

It's likely I owed my position to Urele's lack of mothering ability. It seemed the Empress was always busy doing something, whether in the house or out of it. These unexplained errands conveniently permitted her to ignore her children.

Though they'd been married for twelve years, Dorian and Urele rarely got along. Never before had I seen such an ill-matched pair. Small and bookish, Dorian conducted personal dealings the same way he did political ones: with cold and calculated remoteness. Urele, on the other hand, sported beauty unrivaled in all of Kadessa, preferring to socialize and spend money over all else. The only real time she obliged to be seen with Dorian was at social gatherings or on rare occasions he willingly spent money on her; he permitted her to do whatever she liked as long as she kept away from him.

I adored their children, however.

When I reached Marcella's nursery, I found the child waiting quietly for me in her cradle. She looked up when I entered.

"Rosie!" she cried, pulling herself to a standing position.

I couldn't help smiling. "Is it time for a diaper change, Marcie?"

She shook her head, her curls bouncing about. I laughed.

"Well too bad. I must get you and your siblings ready for dinner or Papa will have my head."

Marcella only gave me a quizzical look, and I carried the little girl to her changing table. Once she was clean and dressed for dinner in frilly purple silk, I hoisted her onto my hip and set about finding her older brother.

Contrary to his mother's belief, six-year-old Mitari crawled amidst an elaborate war set up between countless figurines on the floor of his room.

"Time for dinner, Mitari," I said.

He looked up. "Aww, do I have to? I'm having fun! Look, Rosie, the First Regiment just destroyed a troop of Gigantos who tried to break through the barrier!"

I regarded the toppled miniature Giganto figurines and sighed at how racist the boy already was.

"I'm glad you're having fun," I said, "but your mother and father would appreciate your presence at the dinner table."

Mitari scowled and threw the action figure he held across the room. It bounced off the wall with a clatter and skittered away beneath the boy's dresser. It was frightening that he already showed signs of his grandfather's hair-trigger temper.

"Come on, Mitari. I'm not in the mood for this. Let's go."

The boy stood and I set Marcella on his bed to prepare his dinner clothes. He knew the routine and stripped down, allowing me to hand him the new clothing. He washed up and put it on without another word, and we made our way down the hall to Miata's room.

Sure enough, the ten-year-old was seated at her desk, drawing pictures. She drew or wrote incessantly, expressing the creativity and talent of a born artist.

"Rosie, look what I drew!" she cried, sliding off her chair and holding up a smudged piece of parchment. It was a lovely depiction of a sunset.

"It's beautiful, Miata, but it's dinnertime now."

Without protest, the girl pulled out her pale blue dinner gown and changed into it, pulling her thick hair into a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. And when she was finished inspecting her appearance, we made our way downstairs to the dining hall.

With the family seated around the table, the cooks brought dinner to them, and I watched briefly from around the corner. Miata rambled to her parents about something she'd learned from her governess that day. Neither of them listened, of course. Urele pressed a couple fingers to her forehead, feigning a headache, and Dorian stared blankly out the window, stirring his food into an unintelligible mess. But he at least occasionally acknowledged something Miata said. Mitari quietly spooned blobs of peas under the table, each time glancing at Dorian to make sure he hadn't noticed. It amazed me the family still maintained the end-of-week family meal tradition.

But watching them made me realize the truth of their situation. It was something less conspicuous than Urele's distaste for her husband and children. Something more upsetting than Dorian's dissatisfaction with life. Something more unfortunate than the family's weak bonds. A truth darker than all of it. Regarding the little girl in the high chair before me reminded me of Urele's deeper misgivings.

Miata and Mitari obviously belonged to Dorian, both in looks and attitude. Miata was tall, gangly and smart as a whip; she enjoyed gardening and cherished visits with her great-aunt Charle. Mitari sported a short stature for a boy his age but made up for it ten-fold in his personality; he bossed everyone around and showed great promise as a future politician. Each of them possessed hair so platinum it nearly gleamed blue in the sun, and they shared their mother's sparkling fireball eyes.

But little Marcella was a different case. Her hair was a bit more blonde than it was platinum, and her eyes a little more brown than amber. Mild-mannered and calm compared to her older siblings, the child rarely demanded anything and was generally happy to spend time with me. But I feared for her; she was already two years old and had yet to demonstrate evidence of wings.

* * *

"And Zenebatos is here?"

"Yes. Very good, Miata."

Though the two older Thayus children were under the care of tutors for much of the day during the winter season, I often found myself helping each of them with homework assignments. Today, while Marcella took her mid-morning nap and Mitari ventured the grounds with his governor, I assisted Miata with geography research.

In her typical loopy-lettered way, Miata labeled the city of Zenebatos on her map.

"All right," I said. "What's the next city on the list?"

Miata glanced at the assignment log from her tutor and said, "Mirr."

"Okay, and what's Mirr's nickname?"

"The Birth City."

"Very good."

Miata scribbled down the information regarding Mirr, copying it from her textbook, then stared vehemently at her map. Finally, she pointed to a city in the far reaches of northern Endiness, at the foot of the mountains where the weather grew cold and unforgiving.

"Here's Mirr!" she cried, victorious. She turned to face me, narrowing her eyes. "Didn't you come from there, Rosie?"

I nodded and did my best to smile. My time in Mirr didn't exactly involve the happiest of memories.

"Tell me about it," Miata said. "I can use you as a reference for my project."

"Oh, sweetie. My experience isn't—"

"Sure it is! Primary resources are the best!"

Miata's eyes pleaded with me to do the interview. I knew retelling the story of the horrors I saw at Mirr could get me into trouble. Despite her curiosity and thirst for learning, Miata was still so young and innocent, and the realities of her race escaped her. I wasn't certain my tale wouldn't corrupt her, turning her against her own race.

_You can tell her,_ my conscience chimed. _Just leave out the ugly parts …_

And before I knew it, I began babbling about my experiences in the Birth City, Mirr and the dreadfulness of its truth.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

I worked in the Genesis Tower as one of the nursemaids whose job it was to care for the infants born there. I was one in a staff of twenty or so; hundreds of babies were born every week, which kept the lot of us thoroughly busy. But for every child delivered in the Genesis Tower, at least two or three were denied existence by the Birth Committee, a group of "medically educated" Winglies sanctioned by Melbu Frahma to control the population of Endiness. While mostly Winglies celebrated their children's births at Mirr, many Humans and Gigantos were also forced to bear their children in Mirr, even if it meant travelling across the continent.

Specialized vendors frequented the Genesis Tower lobby, selling all sorts of magical potions and salves which supposedly guaranteed a mother would deliver a child sufficient for the Birth Committee. Every one of them was a ruse. No miraculous elixir, no matter how powerful, could make an unborn baby stronger, smarter or more magically potent, and thus sway the opinion of the Birth Committee. The Committee decided the child's fate, and often based on its race to maintain Wingly supremacy.

But the Birth Committee frequently discriminated against members of the Wingly race as well.

On one occasion, my superior assigned me to an expectant Wingly mother due to give birth within the hour. I was forced to loiter about the woman's room, bringing her anything she needed until she delivered her child, at which point, it was my job to care for the child alone. She was a nice lady by the name of Raycelle. She was young, attractive and sweet. Mostly naïve, though.

"It's my first," she said, beaming.

"How nice."

I did my best to make small talk, but my social skill suffered after years alone.

"It is," she agreed. "Lucius wanted a boy, but I'm so happy to be having a girl!"

I nodded, and turned away, pretending to be busy with something, but the woman chattered on, through her contractions.

"We almost thought we'd lose her, actually. The Birth Committee advised abortion three months ago. They'd said her magic was too weak. I begged them. I begged Lucius to do something, and Soa bless him, His Royal Authority came through for us with a court order for the Birth Committee to cease and desist in my case. I was so happy!"

"Good for you. Can I get you anything?"

Raycelle shook her head and settled back onto her pillows to await the doctors and nurses.

"I hope she'll be alright," she said, patting her distended belly. "There were some rumors going about that the Birth Committee reserves the right to rescind any decision and offer a new one at any time."

I tried to smile and said, "I'm sure everything will be fine."

I was shooed from the room when delivery time finally rolled around, but I wasn't called back. I stood outside the room the entire time, and though I heard an initial cry from the infant, probably at her moment of birth, I heard nothing more. Eventually, a pair of doctors in white lab coats hurried from the room, speaking in hushed tones, and though the door was open for only a moment, I heard Raycelle cry; it was a sound of total despair, an ear-splitting wail of sorrow.

A few more agonizing moments passed. Then, another person came from the room. A nurse, dressed in pink scrubs, carried a small bundle in her arms. The woman moved past me like it was part of any daily routine, her face calm and demeanor composed. But a chill ran down my spine: the bundle she carried was utterly silent and still.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

"That really happens there?!" Miata looked up, horror written on her face.

I nodded. "Yes, unfortunately."

She turned toward her geography homework, staring at it like it would jump from the page and bite her. I was glad Miata believed my stories; most Winglies would have jumped at the chance to declare me a heretic and a liar for spreading such information. Conversely, however, I wished Miata could have remained entirely ignorant of the tragedies her race brought upon others.

"I think that's enough of geography for today, Miata," I said, standing.

I turned away so the girl couldn't see the tears welling in my eyes.

* * *

"Hey, Rose."

I looked up from my task of folding clothes and placing them in the proper laundry baskets. Maxwell, one of Urele's "personal" slaves, as Dorian called them, stood in the doorway of the laundry room. He leaned against the doorjamb, one muscular arm above his head, the other hanging loose at his side, his thumb hooked through a belt loop.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing … just to chat."

"I'm really busy, Maxwell."

"I'm sure."

Exasperated, I sighed and set a full laundry basket on the ground near my feet and turned back to the next one to be filled. Max pushed himself away from the door and moved toward me, laying a hand on my left shoulder.

"You look tense," she said. "Here, let me help."

Max placed his other hand on my right shoulder and began to massage my neck and shoulders, his thumbs stroking in a circular pattern toward my hairline, and the digits of each hand slowly creept forward, below my collarbone.

I jerked my shoulders free of his grasp and moved away. I turned around to face him.

"Please, don't touch me," I said, hoping my voice sounded more vicious than my body felt.

Max held his hands up, palms forward in surrender, but his green eyes oozed the raw desire that the rest of his body concealed. He blew at a lock of brown hair that tumbled onto his forehead. I regarded him for a moment, then turned back to the laundry.

"Seriously. Have you even had sex?"

I shivered. It felt like my skin was crawling.

"That's hardly your business," I said.

Max stepped toward me, reaching around my middle, placing his hands beneath my breasts.

"Aw, come on, Rose. You're so—"

I whirled on him, my palm connecting with the side of his face. My fingers hit cheekbone and the pain ripped through my hand, but the red mark I left on Max's face provided me enough satisfaction to minimize the pain. He stumbled backward.

I turned and jabbed a finger at his nose.

"I'm serious," I snapped. "Don't touch me."

Max rubbed his cheek, more thoughtfully than from the pain.

"And what're you gonna do about it?" he taunted, a crooked grin spreading on his lips.

_What good is weapons training when you don't regularly carry a weapon?_ I thought.

Instead of bantering with Max about why I'd just slapped him, I found myself battling with the phrase he'd used. My stomach lurched and I was suddenly struck with the ugliness of my past. Thrown back in time … back to _that_.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

"Don't come closer," I whimpered, knowing all-too-well I looked how I sounded. Weak and pathetic.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

His voice was calm and silky, his tone smooth and sweet, like honey. He approached slowly, one step at a time, his eyes locked on mine.

I swallowed and braced myself for the attack.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

"Come on, Rose. Just a kiss?"

I silently thanked Max for bringing me back to reality. I shook the memory away and heaved a deep breath, snatching at the remnants of my composure.

"Isn't Urele enough?" I snapped.

Max shrugged. "She's good. Pretty … Sexy. But everyone in this house knows you're friggin' beautiful."

"Is that supposed to be a pick-up line?"

Max shrugged again and leaned against the wash bin. "Maybe." He winked at me.

"Hm. Perhaps you should leave. You don't want Urele to catch you down here speaking to me, do you? You know the rules."

Max rolled his eyes and waved a hand in front of his face, but he made his way toward the door. Before he left, however, he stole a glance at me over his shoulder.

"Lighten up, Rose," he said, and disappeared up the stairwell.

* * *

"You're quite the warrior."

"Shut up and fight!"

Toan stepped forward, slashing at my chest. I dodged left and swung my rapier right, blocking his next attack. He flung his weapon toward me again and I moved out of the way, whirling around to bring my rapier against his exposed thigh. The clang of another block rang into the evening, and Toan flicked my sword away effortlessly.

"Hunh! Hah!"

I sliced left, then right, up toward his shoulder. He blocked the first attack but left himself open for the second. He stepped backward, but I advanced in a flurry of blows, jabbing left, right, down.

"Whoa!"

"Yah! Touché!"

Toan blocked another of my blows, but I flipped his rapier away and drove forward with mine. Toan toppled backward and landed hard on his bottom. I thrust again, pointing the tip of my sword at Toan's chest. I grinned, reveling in the satisfaction that I'd just beaten my teacher. Toan actually smiled back.

"Your attacks were much fiercer today!" he exclaimed. "What happened?"

"My turn for questions," I chimed, removing my headgear and ignoring his inquiry.

Toan laughed, smacked my rapier away with the back of his hand and pulled his mask off, then climbed to his feet.

"Shoot," he said, brushing a patch of dirt off his left elbow. He picked up his sword, pulled out a cloth and sat on the bench to begin the long process of cleaning and shining the weapon.

"Why did you decide to train me?" I asked, moving toward him.

Toan smiled. "That's easy. Because you had potential." He held his rapier close to inspect a tiny nick in the metal.

"That's not an answer, Toan."

He shook his head and stroked the cloth over the rapier several times.

"You did," he said, "and I was fascinated that a Human believed she needed to learn some form of self-defense. I'm curious …"

"No, not this again." I turned away, rubbing my eyes.

"I still don't understand," Toan went on. "Please answer me, Rose. I just want to know. I don't want to unnecessarily endanger myself and others by coaching you."

I took a step backward and he stood, setting the rapier on the bench.

"If you assumed I had ill intentions at heart, you would not have agreed to train me," I said. "Why the suspicion now?"

Somehow, his question was threatening. I declined to sheath my rapier and instead held it over my shoulder, ready to strike in an instant.

"Please put the sword down, Rose," Toan said. "You're making me nervous."

"Well you're—"

"I'm just trying to understand. I need to protect myself too."

"I wouldn't hurt you."

A smile flickered on Toan's lips but quickly dissipated. "How do I know that?"

I sighed, but Toan held my gaze. He had no weapon, but I knew how fast he could move. He was only mere yards away; he could run to me and recover his stance before I could even hope to attack. Defeated, I brought my arm down and sheathed my rapier.

"There," Toan said. "Now tell me why you believe you need weapons training."

"I was supposed to ask the question today."

"And I answered it fairly."

Toan's voice was cold and his gaze steady. He wasn't going to back down. I sighed and thought for a moment, considering my answer. There were really multiple reasons why I felt insecure, some of them less dramatic than others. It wouldn't be entirely untrue to give him only one. He didn't need to know the entire story.

"My family was killed by Winglies when I was young," I said. "I was the only one able to escape."

Toan blinked. "So I'm training you to get revenge on your captors?"

I couldn't tell if his question was meant as a simple inquiry or a means to determine whether or not he would continue to train me. I hadn't considered revenge on the Winglies who'd killed my family. I had been upset, angry, sad … but revenge simply had not crossed my mind. At least for that, anyway.

"I hadn't considered revenge."

"Really." His tone was sharp.

I nodded, though Toan's disbelief surprised me. Perhaps racism was much more ingrained than I'd thought.

"I'm serious, Toan. Revenge isn't what I want. What I desire is … only protection from further encounters."

Toan frowned and stepped back. "Your intentions look awfully strange, Rose. I don't know if we should continue to—"

"No!"

I jumped forward, grasping Toan's arm, but he wrenched it away from me, sending me sprawling to the ground. I tried to bring my hands up to break my fall, but it was too late. My cheek plowed into the stone platform of the training area, and pain ripped down the left side of my face.

"Don't tell me the rumors about Humans are true," he said through gritted teeth. "I trusted you."

Toan's chest heaved with each breath. I sat up, rubbing my cheek where it had connected with the ground. It burned painfully, and the weight of my reality suddenly slammed me full-force. The weight of the secrets I bore. I felt the tears coming and tried to stop them. It had been years since I'd last cried. _Years_. Years since … _that_, but I let the tears fall.

"The rumors aren't true," I snapped, covering my face with my hands. "I just … I… please, just don't give up on me, Toan. … I, I'm not ready."

Silence hung over the valley, save for my sobs, until finally I heard him sigh. He knelt next to me and pulled my hands away to get a look at my wound. He chewed his lower lip, like he was biting back words. I would've laughed if we'd been sparring; Toan was normally so frank and outspoken. Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate to laugh now.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Rose," Toan said gently, applying a compress to my bleeding face.

"Forget it."

"No, it was rude of me."

I avoided his eyes. Toan held my chin in his palm to steady my head against the wave of pain that hit as he applied the healing potion to the wound. I could feel his breath on my face.

"Better?" Toan asked.

I nodded, brushing my fingers against my cheek where the wound had been. Dusk had now fallen into night, and the stars started to sparkle against the black of the sky. I was thankful I'd put the children to bed before sneaking out.

"Anyway," Toan said, standing and glancing at the sky, "I guess that'll be it for tonight, huh?"

He held out a hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet, then turned me to face him. I ventured to look in his eyes this time. They were earnest and sincere and full of compassion now.

"Look, Rose. If you don't want to tell me what happened and what you want out of this, that's fine. I understand. Everyone has something they need to hide."

He leaned close, and it felt like his eyes stared into my soul.

"I need you to promise me that I won't regret teaching you to fight."

I smiled and nodded. "Done."

Toan returned my smile and went back to packing up. I wanted to tell him, but it was impossible. Telling anyone would endanger me further. It was better that Toan didn't know. It was better than no one knew.

* * *

Charle came for a visit the next day. The Wingly matriarch, ever clad in bright pink silk and adorned with countless frills and ruffles, delighted in seeing her grandnieces and nephew. With no children or grandchildren of her own, Charle doted on her brother's. She spoiled Urele's children as she had Urele, granting them expensive gifts and taking them gallivanting across Endiness. She had even once offered to purchase the Kadessa Regional Art Museum for Miata's eighth birthday. Thankfully, Urele had refused, though Miata had been sorely disappointed for months afterward. I later told her that the museum's pieces were not truly art; the place boasted a very narrow view of the art concept and provided minimal intellectual stimulation. It was good for me that she was still too young to catch my reference.

The maid answered the door when the bell rang, though Urele was doing nothing in particular at the time. I believe this time she was reading in the parlor, only two rooms away from the foyer. She was always nearby enough to hear who the guest was, but far enough away to warrant the maid or butler answering the door.

"Ah! Urele, dear, where are you?" Charle's melodic, sing-song voice echoed through the foyer and into the main dining hall.

Urele entered the room at her cue. "Oh, Aunt Charle! How nice to see you! Won't you come in? Liza will take your coat … my, how lovely your dress is!"

"Thank you, dearie. Where are the children? I have something fun for them to do!"

Urele frowned and shot me a glare from where I stood at the top of the staircase. I suppose she was irritated that she hadn't been the primary reason for Charle's visit.

"Rose! Go get the children and meet us in the parlor!"

"Yes, milady." And as Charle and Urele made their way into the next room, I set about the task of finding Urele's brood.

When the children and I entered the parlor, Urele sat on the settee across from Charle. Charle immediately looked up, opening her arms to receive the children in a hug. They nearly bowled her over; Urele watched with distaste. I remained in the doorway.

Liza entered and set a tea tray on the coffee table. I was surprised to see the everyday set and not Urele's expensive silver set. The fat little tea pot possessed a crack in the spout and the elegant pattern on the sugar bowl was starting to fade. A couple of the teacups also sported chips in different spots.

"All right, children," Charle said, leaning in close at their eye level. She pulled slips of paper from her purse and handed one to each of the children. "Run along and find the items on this list. Bring them back to me and you'll get a special prize!"

"Like candy?" Mitari asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

"No," Urele snapped. "It'll spoil your dinner!"

Mitari's face fell.

Charle laughed. "Oh Urele … Lighten up. They're fine. Run along, children." She grinned at them, and they scampered from the room, the item lists in tow.

"Well, Charle," Urele scoffed, "I don't exactly have time to sit here while the children do your silly search. I have things to attend to." She stood from the sofa, placing her hands on her hips.

Charle turned to her niece and smiled. "Of course, dear. Do what you must. I'll be here for a while if you would like to chat."

Urele drew herself up like she planned to argue, but sighed instead and stormed away, breezing past me as though I were air. Charle sent me a wink, though I pretended not to notice. I merely strode to the settee and curled up near its arm. With the children and Urele out of the room, Charle poured herself a cup of tea and another cupful as well, placing it and the saucer in front of me. I let it sit.

"How are things, dearie?" she asked, settling back into the seat.

I said nothing, unsure of what she meant. She took a sip of tea, cocked her head thoughtfully and tossed a couple of sugar cubes into the cup.

"How are you, Rose?" she said again, stirring her tea slowly. She turned her eyes from the cup to me.

"Fine," I said.

Charle raised her brows. "Fine, hmm?" She sipped the tea again. "Indeed. And how are things with the children?"

"Going well. They are well-behaved."

"Good."

Charle took another long drink of her tea, then stirred some cream into the concoction. I watched her, trying to figure out what she wanted from me and fighting to remember the reason for her presence's familiarity. Charle brought her orange eyes to me again.

"But really, Rosie … how are you? I mean, how are you faring, considering all that's happened?"

I shrugged, not certain whether I was confronting the truth or purposely avoiding it.

"You know what I'm referring to, don't you?" Charle asked. She set her cup on the coffee table and laid her hands neatly in her lap.

I remained silent.

"When you were in the hospital, dearie. In Mirr. Do you recall … any of that?"

I did. I remembered every agonizing second of it. In bits and pieces, albeit, but I remembered it. It chilled my heart every time those moments crossed my mind, but I couldn't let Charle know. She apparently regarded me as a charity case already.

Charle nodded and picked up her tea cup. She took another sip, frowned into the tea and shook her head. She placed the cup back onto the table.

"I see," she said. "I won't press you. It's a difficult matter."

But I was already traveling through time, back to the hospital bed in the dimly lit room. Back to the weeks and months following what happened. Back to what I was before … before _that_.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

Darkness. Then bright, white light.

"How is she?"

"Not well."

Whispered voices: one male, one female.

"Please allow me to sit with her for the afternoon." The female's voice.

"Very well. Ring if you need anything."

"Thank you."

Footsteps fading down the hallway. The squeak of chair legs scraping tile floor. Someone grasped my hand.

"Rosie, honey, can you hear me? … It's Charle."

She paused, expecting an answer. I was too drugged to be coherent. She went on anyway.

"Oh, Rose … I'm so terribly sorry." Charle squeezed my hand and sighed. "I shouldn't have to apologize for him."

She adjusted my blanket and brushed my bangs off my forehead. "I won't ask you to forgive him," she said. "I couldn't if I were you. But I want you to understand. It's not really his fault. He's just…"

But before she was able to finish, the world grew fuzzy again and went dark.

**o.-0.-O-.0-.o**

"Rosie? Are you okay, honey?"

Charle's calm voice broke through the haze, and the distant memory faded into present reality. I nodded.

Charle sank back onto the sofa. "Very well. I was only concerned, Rosie. I still am, actually. Such an event can have a dramatic impact on fragile young girls like—"

"I'm not fragile."

I kept my gaze focused on the carpet, but I knew Charle was smiling.

"If you say so, dearie," she said. "Actually, you would not have survived the ordeal if—"

"Can we talk about something else?"

I looked up from the floor. Charle stared for a moment, her smile kind and motherly, but her eyes were amber ice.

"Of course, Rosie honey." She adjusted a ruffle on her skirt, patted it down. "You know, I was about your age when Lonnie died. I'd lost two or three children by that point and knew none would ever live. I didn't bother to remarry. What was the point? Mirele told me I was being silly and stubborn. I ignored her and called her all sorts of nasty things. Soa had at least granted her the privilege of children…"

Charle looked up at me, her eyes watery and friendly again. She continued with her story.

"Then I was shocked when she was taken from us. Melbie was so sad and lost. I had to be his support, and I ruled the nation in his grief. It was difficult, but I've faced death quite often since then. Of course, when you're as old as I am, it's hard not to …"

I was not inclined to talk about death, in any sense of the word. Not mine, not her husband's, not the empress's, not anyone's. But I listened just the same because she had at least agreed not to discuss _that_ event. I knew I wasn't ready to face it. No, not yet.

"… so don't feel so bad about your situation, Rosie, because it's natural to feel—"

"Aunt Charle!"

Mitari tore into the room, waving his paper and dragging a box of items. Miata and Marcella followed not long afterward, Miata holding her sister's hand, a bag slung over her shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief to be free from the clutches of Charle's lecture.

"Oh Mitari! Girls!" Charle pulled her grandnephew onto her lap, and the girls sat down next to her. "Did you find all of the items?"

The four of them began to sort through the objects from the scavenger search, the children's faces lighting up with excitement and delight. When it was all said and done, Charle handed each of the children a toy and a piece of candy.

But even while she entertained the children, she looked up and caught my eye, holding my gaze longer than what was natural. And that's when I understood … She knew everything.

* * *

On a pleasant, sunny afternoon about a week later, Urele decided to treat the children to an excursion. Her choice of venues, however, was questionable. Nevertheless, I followed her through the thick crowd of milling bodies, trying to maintain safe distance. Everyone eagerly pushed toward the arena entrance, and I fretted that I would lose one of the children in the throng.

"Oh look, Rosie!" Urele exclaimed. "There's Daddy! Let's sit with him!"

My stomach lurched and felt like someone had dropped a brick of ice into it. I stopped in my tracks, watching Urele move forward. Miata and Mitari followed their mother, but Marcella still clung to me, breathing softly against my neck, my hair clutched in her little hand and wound around her fingers. My eyes froze on the royal seats ahead; sure enough, Melbu Frahma sat there with a few members of his entourage.

_No wonder Dorian remained at the office,_ I thought. _Frahma's taking the afternoon off to watch Coliseum matches._

Urele stopped and turned around.

"Come on, Rosie! I wanna get our seats before the match starts!" she whined.

I nodded, closed my mouth and hurried to catch up. Frahma stood to greet us.

"Hi, Daddy," Urele cooed, hugging her father. He embraced her, though it appeared half-hearted, and never once did he close his eyes in satisfaction or happiness. He frowned when he saw me.

"She cannot sit with us," he said.

Urele looked at me, then at her father. "But, Daddy—"

"She's a _slave_, Urele." His voice grew hot. "A Human. She cannot."

"But she's so good with the children! Look, Marcella loves her! Rosie's the only one that can keep her quiet!"

Frahma's eyes travelled me up and down, and I closed my eyes, begging Soa to grant me the strength to endure his gaze. Marcella whimpered in my ear, but I barely heard it over the white noise of memories.

Suddenly I was in Mirr again, age sixteen and naïve. Pain tearing down my legs and shooting up my spine. Blood leaking onto the floor. Flashes of light between shades of darkness. Charle's calm, soothing voice. My will to live battling with my desire to die. And amidst all of it, a burning sensation in my brain, chanting one word over and over again: revenge …

"Fine," Frahma spat, jolting me back to reality, and I opened my eyes. "But she shall sit behind me, so I don't have to look at her."

Urele grinned and directed me to my place. She settled into a seat next to her father, and I sat down, Marcella in my lap and her siblings on either side of me. I pulled a jar from the diaper bag I brought and handed Marcella a piece of pear, then observed the arena around me.

I had never been there. The Coliseum was generally thought of as a venue enjoyed only by Winglies. I knew why; Humans were often murdered in the midst of a match, and all sorts of species were used as bait for bigger and stronger creatures. It was a frightening place, its walls made of dusty yellow stone, with fancy decorated columns rising floor-to-ceiling, their elaborate pictures detailing the crooked history of the Winglies. The ceiling, invisible to Human eyes, repelled weather, and according to Dorian, the entire structure was one of the greatest feats ever constructed by Wingly hands. The battleground, the focal point of the whole thing, was largely a dirt floor, where the arena masters placed props or dug holes, and which made the entire thing filthy and base.

I had protested Urele's decision to take the children. I asked to take them to the park for a walk, but she would not hear of it. The matches would be loud, bloody and frightening, particularly for Marcella, and I doubted Miata would enjoy it very much either. Mitari, on the other hand, bounced in his seat and asked his grandfather a thousand questions, none of which returned answered. Frahma ignored his grandchildren, instead training his eyes on the battleground.

"There is a very important match today," he said.

"How so?" Urele asked.

Frahma turned to her and I caught a glimpse of a wicked smile. "You'll see."

Beside Frahma sat Ignatius Faust, General of the Wingly Army. He boasted immense magic power, and some even called him a sorcerer or magician. At first glance, however, he looked like someone's aged grandfather. Today he wore civilian attire: a robe of blue and canary yellow, and his long white beard flowed neatly over his chest. Marcella leaned forward to pet his silvery hair, but I held her back, handing her a few grapes instead.

I recognized none of Frahma's other companions, but before I could look at anything else, the green glow of the teleporter signaled someone's arrival across the arena. I squinted to see who it was, but the man made his way into the press box, and I assumed he was the announcer. A few moments later, he confirmed my suspicion.

"Goooooood afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" The man's voice, a rich baritone, echoed across the arena.

The crowd roared with applause and cheers.

"Welcome to the Eradidome, the ultimate hotbed of bloody and fearless entertainment! Today we have lined up a series of five heart-pounding, pulse-racing, brain-rattling matches, featuring some of the best competitors and Endiness' most fearsome creatures!"

The stands erupted with approving screams of excitement. The announcer went on.

"And as a reminder, the rules of the arena are as follows: No fights in the stands or outside the arena; you will be arrested. Placing bets is not restricted, and be sure to show your appreciation for the winner of each match. Disdain for the loser is encouraged. As always on the last match of the month, participants for sale will appear in the corral after the matches; be sure to take a look. Finally, please welcome to today's events … His Royal Authority Melbu Frahma!"

Again, the crowd burst into applause. Frahma stood and raised his arms, absorbing the praise like a dry tree root. I sank deeper into my seat, hoping intensely that the crowd ignored me. They did, and Frahma sat.

"Now let's enjoy the show!" The announcer paused to arrange his paperwork or look over the script for the first match.

"Are we starting now?" Mitari asked. I told him to hush and watch.

"And now, we introduce to you four-time champion, Giganto and master of the falchion, Zeeeuuuuusssss—" He paused for the crowd to cheer or boo. They did both. "—today he faces the reputed Minotaur!"

The gates on either end of the arena ground open. A Giganto man, dressed in lion fur and carrying an enormous falchion-style sword, appeared from the east gate. The Minotaur, an ugly, hairy, dog-headed creature with a bull's tail and hind legs, Human arms, and no doubt created by the scientists at Aglis, emerged from the west, carrying a wooden club.

"Let the match commence!"

The Minotaur charged, and I suddenly felt compelled to hide my eyes, but instead covered Marcella's. She laughed out loud, probably assuming we were playing peek-a-boo.

The Minotaur swung his club, but the Giganto countered with surprising speed, catching the Minotaur in the middle with his falchion. The Minotaur roared in protest, and the Giganto swung again, his sword ripping through the flesh and sinew of the Minotaur's hind legs. The creature roared again and dove at the Giganto, hitting him in the chest and plowing him to the ground. A cheer went up from the crowd.

I screamed, though I tried to cover my mouth ahead of time, and Melbu Frahma sent me a glare over his shoulder.

The Giganto threw the Minotaur off and recovered his sword, storming toward the beast which now lay in a heap a few yards away. The Minotaur picked himself up, uttered a monstrous howl and struck, just as the Giganto neared. The Minotaur's club connected with the Giganto's legs, knocking him off balance and producing ugly, bloody scrapes along the man's shins. But the Giganto didn't relent; he rushed forward and lifted the Minotaur's broken body, heaving it across the arena. The Minotaur produced a sickening crack when it landed, and from where we were, I could detect no movement. The Giganto man plucked up the Minotaur's club and approached his comatose opponent; he lifted the club and brought it downward.

I hid my eyes as the Giganto bludgeoned the Minotaur to death, but sighed in relief as the ringmasters dragged the creature's lifeless body from the Coliseum. It was difficult enough to watch other intelligent species battle terrifying and deadly creatures, but to watch them lose was another thing entirely. I wasn't certain I could endure it.

The second match pitted a Minintos against a wyvern, and the minute the clawed, winged creature dove at that little, pink-haired person, I screamed and hid my eyes. I heard the blood-curdling screams and the cheers of the crowd as the Minintos was ripped limb-from-limb. He had no weapon, no armor, no magic power … At one point, my eyes leaked tears and I thanked Soa that Marcella had fallen asleep, even amidst the chaos. Mitari yanked at my arms, trying to force me to watch, but I fought him, nudging him away each time. I am convinced Melbu Frahma laughed at me all the while.

When the announcer finally declared the match over, I peeked from behind a hand at the arena floor. My stomach lurched at the sight of the blood spatter everywhere. I glanced at Miata. She stared, wide-eyed and horror-stricken, at the slaughter. Her mouth hung agape. Quickly, I grabbed her wrist, hoisted Marcella onto my hip, and nearly ran from the arena, leaving Mitari to revel in the carnage.

"How can anyone watch this?!" I shouted at no one, once we stood in the arcade.

Miata regarded me with sympathy in her eyes. I sighed, knowing I had let slip a dire turn of phrase, one that could easily get me whipped or killed. Winglies discouraged free thought and punished those caught expressing opinions.

"Please don't tell your mother, Miata," I said.

She shook her head. "I won't. I didn't like the matches either."

_Ah, so there is some hope for you then …_

We missed the next two matches. I was glad. I vaguely heard the announcer say one of them forced a Human to battle a Wingly. The following match drew gasps of awe from the crowd, and the sound of rock being blown apart drifted to our ears. Terrible screeching cries echoed throughout the arena complex, and I wondered what could possibly make such a racket. Marcella had awoken by this point, and she squirmed about on my lap, trying to get free. I couldn't help thinking of the rumors regarding her paternity.

"Are you ready to go back to the arena, Rosie?" Miata asked slowly, placing a hand on my arm.

I looked at her and managed a smile. "Only if you are."

She nodded, and we stood, the three of us marching bravely back into the arena seats. I feared for the worst, but Frahma took no notice of us. His eyes were trained fast on the arena floor. Urele only glanced over her shoulder at me as we wriggled our way back to our seats.

"Rose, what was the matter?" she asked. I noted the absence of my nickname and took it for annoyance on her part.

"We were thirsty, milady," I said as steadily as I could. "We left to get a drink."

Urele narrowed her eyes. "That should not take the duration of two matches. What kept you?"

"I got lost," was all I could think to say. I surprised myself with the lie; untruths rarely escaped my lips, and especially not in the presence of the children. I glanced at Miata, who only smiled in that innocent way of hers.

"Very well," Urele huffed finally. "Now sit down so we can enjoy the last match in peace!"

As if on cue, the announcer's voice boomed over the crowd, "And now, introducing the infamous former commander of the Royal Advance Guard and reputed seventy-eight time champion; here he is, Ziieeeeeeg Felllllllld!"

Below, from the west gate—the loser's gate, according to today's matches—emerged a man carrying a thick broadsword. He was far away; I struggled to make out his specific features, but could see that he wore no armor except a studded leather bandolier over his chest, a pair of torn and dirty trousers, and lace-up sandals. He looked every part the barbarian, his blonde hair a

long, tangled mess and a matted, disheveled beard falling over his torso.

"Father, why is your Advance Guard commander participating? He'll be killed!" Urele exclaimed.

Frahma turned to her and grinned. "Exactly."

Urele jerked her head to the side, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her father.

"But why?" she asked, apparently incredulous.

"It's none of your business," Frahma replied quickly, shifting in his seat and turning his gaze back to the arena floor.

Urele scowled, made a disgusted noise and flopped back into her own chair, arms crossed over her chest.

"And now," the announcer said, "for the first time ever in the history of the Coliseum, we introduce to you a brand new opponent, one so fearsome and bloodthirsty, those with weak constitutions may want to leave the stadium …"

I trembled, clutched Marcella a little tighter and laid a hand over Miata's. I watched as Frahma's reaction changed from bored indifference to mild interest and finally to excitement as rumbling footsteps resounded on the dirt and stone floor leading to the east gate. Mitari sat on his knees, at the edge of his seat, eyes wide with excitement mirroring his grandfather's.

Then, from the east end of the arena, a Violet Thunder-Burst Dragon emerged, bellowing a fierce cry and hurtling itself toward the man. I felt the urge to cover my eyes again, but restrained myself and watched as the man called Zieg hurled himself to the ground. The dragon sailed over him, almost as if it had been choreographed. I knew better, though; these matches were never premeditated.

The man took off, and the dragon ran headfirst into the wall, shaking the stands with the aftershock. The great beast turned, and the man shouted and waved his sword, taunting the dragon. He ran as the dragon charged at him, and artfully dodged several lightning bolts, summoned from the dragon's inner stores of magic. But he must have grown too confident. One bolt soared overhead, while another struck the ground in front of the man. I felt the concussion of the blow in the stands, so it was no surprise when the man stumbled and fell.

His sword flew from his hands, landing on its end and skittering away from the man. The dragon rumbled forward and reached the spot where the man lay, whipping its tail around and pinning him beneath it. The crowd screamed, delighted with the idea of the day's matches culminating in a bloody snack for a dragon.

The man struggled for his sword, reaching and scrabbling against the dirt floor of the arena, the dragon looming over him all the while, slobbering onto his back. My hand flew to my mouth and I uttered a scream, though Frahma was so absorbed in the action he failed to notice.

Finally, the man caught hold of his sword, swung it around and shoved it through the dragon's neck. Blood sprayed from the wound, dying everything around it bright red, but the man didn't relent. He slid himself from under the dragon's great tail, and swung his weapon a second time, slicing through the beast's scales and muscle. The dragon roared in frustration, and the crowd cheered, suddenly realizing the tables had turned.

The man whirled and plunged his sword into the dragon's chest, shoving it all the way to the hilt. Again and again, he dodged the dragon's retaliation as if possessed by some new energy. The man struck continually, slicing this way and that, blood pouring from every one of the dragon's orifices.

Finally, the beast plummeted to the ground, and the crowd gasped collectively.

Total silence filled the arena for what seemed like an eternity. I leaned forward in my seat, chewing the end of a finger and praying the man had gotten out of the way. Several more moments passed, and finally, a hushed whisper rippled across the stands. I peered at the arena floor, struggling to make out what was happening. Sure enough, the man was alive. He pulled himself onto the dragon's great belly, sticking his sword into its flesh. He paused then, his chest clearly heaving with the effort, but he raised his right arm above his head in a gesture of victory. The crowd erupted.

"WHAT?!" Frahma leapt from his chair. "That's impossible!"

"Unbelievable, folks!" the announcer boomed. "Simply unbelievable! Zieg Feld has beaten the odds here today!"

"Impossible!" Frahma fumed. "He can't! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Let's hear it, folks! The Emperor has done it again! Tempting Fate by supporting a candidate doomed to lose!"

The crowd burst into applause for His Royal Authority, and Frahma, startled by the announcer's backward assertion, looked up. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but with one final sour look at the arena, Frahma raised an arm to acknowledge his appreciation for the crowd's support. I laughed at the notion that he allowed himself to accept someone else's victory as his own.

Though Frahma seethed at the result of the match, Urele watched the scene with amusement, a sneaky smile playing at her lips.

"He's impressive," she mused. "And handsome, too."

"Don't you dare, Urele," Frahma snapped. "He's a dangerous criminal and an outlaw. He aided Diaz's escape!"

Urele raised her eyebrows. "A criminal? Is that why you bet against him? Hmph. Why did you allow Diaz to escape in the first place? I hardly believe it's entirely his fault." Urele motioned at the man in the arena, who now watched the ringmasters strap cords to the dragon's appendages.

"I'm serious," Frahma said. "If you so much as lay a hand on that man, I will—"

"You can't stop me, Daddy. I will do as I please." Urele turned to face me. "Come along, Rosie. Children."

Frahma shouted a string of curse words at us, but it was a relief to finally leave the arena. Urele led the five of us from our seats, though she immediately made her way to the corral, where several filthy men stared at us from behind the wooden fencing. One, in particular, caught my eye.

He was tall with a broad, muscular chest and a mass of tangled, greasy blonde hair. He had been sitting against the wall when I first noticed him, but upon catching my gaze, he stood and walked to the railing, observing me and the children.

"Hey, Rosie!" Miata said. "It's the man who beat the dragon!" She pointed at the grizzled competitor.

I nodded and said, "Don't stare Miata, it's impolite!"

I failed, however, to obey my own advice. The man flashed me a grin that could have melted Kashua Glacier. I was about to return the smile when he nodded at me … and catcalled. Miata giggled, but I squeezed her arm and fought to swallow the hot rage bubbling in my chest.

"He likes you, Rosie!" Miata protested.

I wrenched my gaze from the scoundrel and turned my attention to Miata. "You are too young to know such things," I snapped. "Whistling at a woman is rude!"

"Ruder than staring?"

"Yes! Come along!"

I jerked Miata away from the corral and hurried past the milling crowd, wishing Urele would stop fraternizing and take us home. I forced myself to keep my back to the corral, but that man's gaze burned a hole in my brain, and all I could see was that grin. Only when Urele returned to our group, looking smug and satisfied, did I finally receive any relief.

* * *

The second time I saw him was as accidental as the first. I had just put Marcella to bed, fussing with her to stay in her cradle, and she had just settled down when I crept from the room. I started down the hallway toward Mitari's chamber when I noticed the man exiting Urele's room.

At first, I was not certain it was him. Though still shirtless, he was clean-shaven and his hair shorn and kempt. But the closer I got the more certain I became. There was no mistaking it. He was the man from the dragon fight in the Coliseum.

As I approached, I saw he was fastening his pants and I paused, staring.

He glanced over his shoulder at me.

"Hey," he said shortly, nodding. And he hurried off.

I watched him walk away, disturbed by his demeanor. I know I have a tendency to be short with people, and I admit to treating him poorly at the arena, but catcalling is simply not a means of introduction I answer to. And now curtness?

However, the man _was_ intriguing. He had singlehandedly defeated a dragon; certainly that deserved praise. He was handsome. Probably too handsome for his own good; it's no doubt why Urele purchased him from the arena. Quite the expensive sex slave, but it was none of my business.

I was actually shocked to see him come from her room—I tried to avoid that sort of thing if I could—but perhaps I should have seen it coming. Dorian monitors the family purse strings, and the only slaves he permits Urele to purchase are ones for personal use. I bet he threw a fit over the latest one.

"Roooooosieeeeeeeeee!"

The cry from Mitari put an end to my thoughts, and I started back down the hallway. The child grinned and bounced on his bed when I entered.

"Rosie! Read me a story!" he demanded.

_Already in his role as master …_

"Hush, Mitari," I said, going to him. "Bad little boys do not get stories."

He scowled and threw a tantrum, but I convinced him to lie down and tucked him in. My body worked through the routine without the presence of my mind, because it would not let go of the man from the arena. I suppose I had never considered Urele's affairs seriously. I knew she was a terrible mother—that was for certain, based on the matter in which she treated her children—but I never considered that her exploits with men were largely the reason for her absence in the children's lives.

I made my way to Miata's room. As I expected, she was at her desk, scribbling excitedly with her graphite pencils. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her. She held her tongue between her teeth, carefully tracing various lines and making sure she colored within them. I chuckled at the sight.

"Bedtime, Miata," I said finally.

She turned to look at me and smiled, then slid off her chair and crawled into bed, pulling her long legs to her chest so I could bring the covers over her.

"Rosie, why does Mother never tuck us in?" Miata asked. Her voice was sweet and her eyes so innocent.

"She is a very busy woman," I replied, more curtly than I should have. "She is the Empress and has many things to attend to."

Miata frowned. "What things does she attend to with Mister Max and Mister Zieg?"

I stopped fussing with the covers and straightened my posture. Slowly, I turned to face Miata. She stared at me, her face earnest and expecting an answer.

"How do you know Max and Zieg?" I asked, fighting to remain calm. I had always done my best to ensure the children remained far away from their mother's exploits. Poor Miata was too curious for her own good and at age ten, much too old to be babied any longer.

Miata grinned. "Mister Max gives me candy and Mister Zieg fetched my dolly from the tree when Mitari threw it up there!"

I paused to think, then said, "When did you see them with your mother?"

Miata suddenly stopped grinning and glanced away sheepishly. She must have thought she was getting into trouble.

"I saw them coming from her bedchamber yesterday morning," she said, peeking at me from the corner of her eye.

I bit my lip to avoid speaking impulsively and took a deep breath.

"They were both there?" I asked, slowly.

Miata nodded. "Mister Zieg waved at me, but Mister Max didn't see me. He looked mad."

I froze. My stomach tied itself into a knot and I fought the urge to run to Urele's chamber and strangle her.

_How does one explain such a thing to a child?_

I shook my head and tried to smile. "You'll understand one day, Miata. It is not my place to tell you. Now go to sleep." I bent and kissed her forehead, tucking the covers around her shoulders.

Miata closed her eyes and sighed, and I turned out the light but strode to the desk, curious what she had been drawing. I picked the piece of parchment up, careful not to rustle it and disturb the child, and held it close to inspect it. The light from the Never-Setting Moon spilled through the window and onto the page, illuminating it enough to see.

It was a drawing of her family. She had colored herself in her favorite blue dress with her arm around her little brother, and drew her little sister playing on the ground in front of Mitari. They were all smiling and stood in front of their father.

The surprising part, however, was that Miata had drawn me next to Dorian, a place normally occupied by a mother. At first I thought Miata had not drawn her mother at all, but then I saw it and understood. Urele was shown off to the left, an angry, scary expression on her face. My mouth dropped open, and I turned to face the bed.

"Miata, what—" I began. But the child was already fast asleep.

* * *

It was only days later that I again crossed paths with the man named Zieg.

I was in the central courtyard with the children, all of us enjoying the sunny fall day. It was chilly, so I had instructed the children to wear proper attire, and as usual, Mitari had ignored the request. He tore around the yard, holding his arms up and roaring like a dragon, chasing the birds. Miata, wrapped snuggly in a wool coat, sat on a bench, a roll of parchment in her lap and the box of pencils by her side. I sat on a blanket, reading a story to Marcella.

"And then the princess said—"

I paused when a cool shadow crossed overhead, blocking the sunlight. Marcella drew her hand from her mouth, excitedly patting the colorful pictures in the book. I turned to look over my shoulder, and there stood Zieg, hands in his trousers pockets and looking very awkward.

"Can I help you?" I asked. This time, the curtness came intentionally.

He said nothing, but his mouth wrenched around, trying to form some kind of expression.

I turned to Marcella and poked her in the sides, making her giggle. "Run along, honey," I whispered. "See if Miata will pick you and your brother some apples."

I patted the little girl on her bottom, and she toddled toward her sister. I turned back to Zieg.

"Can I help you?" I repeated, unfurling my legs and standing.

He bit his bottom lip. I raised my eyebrows and placed my hands on my hips. He poked at a rock with the toe of his shoe. I cleared my throat.

"If you refuse to speak to me like an intelligent being, I—"

"I just wanted to say 'hi,'" Zieg said. His voice was deep and melodic.

I stared at him for a moment.

"Hi?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Hello, good morning. …Whatever."

I shifted my weight to my right leg and crossed my arms over my chest. It was a defensive gesture I resorted to often, it seemed. Ever since … _that_.

"Why do you care to speak to me?" I asked.

Zieg shrugged. "Dunno."

Again, silence befell us. I probably lacked the social skill to determine what Zieg really wanted so I thought silence better than saying something mundane or ignorant.

Zieg finally heaved a deep breath and looked at the sky. Still, he did not speak.

"Why did you want to say hello?" I snapped. "I've never met you before."

Again, Zieg shrugged and continued to avoid my gaze. "I dunno, I guess I just … I just wanted to apologize for the other night." He brought his eyes to mine again. "I didn't mean for you to see that."

I shook my head. "I didn't see anything."

Zieg frowned. "You saw me coming out of—"

I coughed loudly and Zieg stopped talking. I glanced over my shoulder at the children. Miata was teetering on tiptoes, reaching for the lowest-hanging apple. Her siblings laughed and cheered her on. I turned back to Zieg.

"Not in front of the children. …Continue."

He stared at me for a moment, then said, "Well, you know. You saw me. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Zieg sighed heavily and turned away. His fists clenched and unclenched rapidly.

"For what I do," he spat.

"Well."

Zieg faced me again and tried to smile. I didn't return it. The smile quickly evaporated and he turned his eyes to the ground.

"I guess Max was right," he said. "You're cold."

"Excuse me?"

I had a feeling I knew what was coming. Max possessed a tendency to stir up drama among the house slaves, and his favorite game involved forcing Urele's other bedmates into impossible situations. He used dares, challenges and clever turns of phrase to dupe his competitors into making Urele so angry that she either whipped them or threw them out of her house.

But even Zieg's oblivion to Max's intentions could not curb my annoyance that the male Thayus slaves refused to let me be.

Zieg ground the toe of his shoe into the dirt. "Max told me no one's been able to touch you or talk to you. So I thought I'd—"

I took a step toward him and fought the irritation simmering in my veins. I would have drawn my rapier on him, had I been carrying it.

"You thought you would try your luck?" I snapped. "Is that it? You thought you could work your charm on me and get me to—"

Zieg scowled and said, "No! I meant I just—

"You just wanted to talk? I hardly believe that, and I don't wish to be touched by you or anyone else!"

Zieg took a step toward me, his eyes flashing with either fury or ardor. My own temper bubbled to the surface, but something else tagged along. Fear …

"You had better run along, Mister Feld, or—"

He reached out—lightning fast—and grabbed my upper arm, cutting my reprimand off.

"I'll touch what I like," he drawled slowly, but his voice was vicious.

His thumb stroked my skin, and fire rippled down my arm. The irritation boiled over to rage, and I immediately wanted to slap him across the face, but before I could think, I brought my knee up and jammed it right into his groin. Zieg stumbled backward and bent over in agony. I knew the children might be watching, but I hardly cared.

"And I, Mister Feld, refuse what I do not like."

He looked up, his eyes squinting against the sunlight and the pain.

"My mistress would that her _consorts_ keep their hands off me," I added.

Zieg stood with some difficulty, but he didn't drop my gaze.

"_That_," he snapped, "is not my—"

"Rosie!"

Zieg and I both turned toward the eastern edge of the courtyard. Urele strode toward us, her expensive silk gown rustling with the movement.

"Rosie," she said, her voice sweet. "Why on earth are you speaking to him when you should be watching the children? Look! They're going to get hurt!"

I knew she spoke sweetly to mask her frustration. The apple does not fall far from the tree …

I glanced over my shoulder. Miata had apparently given up trying to get the fruit herself and now had Marcella on her shoulders. The little girl picked apples and threw them to the ground in delight.

"Well, I—"

"No excuses, Rosie! Just go." She pointed at the children.

I looked at Zieg. The rage had disappeared now, replaced by something like pity. Now instead of berating him for finding me attractive, I wanted to warn him of the game Max was playing. I almost wanted to apologize; he looked pathetic in Urele's presence. His eyes begged me to claim it was my fault—that I had approached and talked to him first—but I failed to find my voice.

I dropped my head and turned my back to them slowly. I walked to the children, plucking Marcella off her sister's shoulders. As I began to gather the apples, I glanced back and saw Urele dragging Zieg by the ear. The next time I saw him, he sported a series of ugly whiplashes down his back.


	5. Acerbitas (Bitterness)

_Please excuse my blatant disregard for conventional writing practices in this chapter. I switched temporarily to third person narration because I think it paints a more accurate portrait of the person portrayed within and adds immensely to the drama of the narrative. Short and crappy, but it gets the point across. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Acerbitas_

_It always seemed cold when he approached her grave. The warmth—the hot, raging warmth—he felt everywhere else was absent here. It was an abysmal place, devoid of flora and fauna and friendship. The sky always appeared grey and foreboding when he came here, threatening to spill forth rain like tears from the sky. _

_He hated bone yards. There was nothing left in them but shells of the people they contained. People who'd once lived. She … had once lived._

_He always fought himself here. He'd only get so far and then be physically and emotionally unable to move the last twenty yards to her grave. And it was a nice grave: in a shady place, protected from the elements by the wide expanse of a nearby tree's branches and cocooned in an elegant enclave with the remains of several other wealthy individuals. _

_But her significance hadn't exactly been her financial status, no. It was true that she'd been lovely and intelligent and rich … but it was her heart that had rendered him complete. _

_He breathed heavily and forced himself forward the last few steps. He knelt in the cool grass next to the marble obelisk marking the place of her burial._

_He often spoke to her when he believed no one was looking, when no one could overhear. He was afraid. She'd always brought out his weaknesses as well as his strengths. He was too vulnerable here. He couldn't let those putrid peasants near this place. They could never hear his speeches of quiet desperation._

_He'd once been asked why he chose to bury her in the ground like the filthy Humans, rather than in a mausoleum like other Wingly leaders. He'd replied simply, "Because interring her in a stone fortress is to forget her and forget why she needlessly died."_

_He turned and regarded the message on her headstone: A Wife and Mother by Day, an Angel by Night. Taken from us too soon …_

* * *

"The strong majority in Parliament is in favor of creating a mandate to forbid the disposal of refuse in the streets of Mirr. The mandate shall, therefore, act in conjunction with the law regarding Human deference—any Human caught in the act of disposing refuse in a non-designated area will be prosecuted."

"Uh huh."

"And I've also proposed a revision to the law regarding the number of pet chipmunks any given family may own, due to the current overpopulation of certain breeds of chipmunks in the regions directly south of Illisa Bay."

"I see."

"Finally, it was brought up that several members of the Council would like to pose a request to you. They would prefer smoked oysters over caviar and … are you listening, Your Authority, sir?"

Frahma lifted his eyes to his second-in-command and did his best to smile amiably.

"I apologize, Dorian. Yes, I was listening, but these issues seem a trifle compared to the greater things happening in the world today."

"I agree, sir, but these issues must also be discussed because they determine the fate of—"

Frahma slammed a fist on the desk, cutting Thayus off. "They determine the fate of nothing," he snapped. "They matter nothing."

"But—"

"I haven't time for this, Dorian." The Wingly dictator stood, clasping his hands behind his back. Dorian bowed his head, his horn-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"I understand, Sire," the slight man said. "Today marks the death of your wife, doesn't it?"

Frahma nodded once, suddenly feeling more vulnerable and alone than he had a moment ago.

"I understand," Dorian repeated. "Perhaps now is not the best time to—"

Frahma waved a hand, dismissing the thought. "It's fine, Dorian. Let's just discuss more pressing matters. Like, for instance, the growing number of Human slave escapees and what they're doing."

"I wasn't aware the problem had grown significantly enough to attract your attention."

"Then you haven't leant me close enough consideration. Diaz is out there; I know he is. And it distresses me that he may be plotting something."

"Like what, if I may ask, Your Excellency? He's a Human. He can't possibly devise any scheme of adequate intelligence."

"It's his desire for vengeance that concerns me, Dorian. Not his intelligence."

"Well if it would ease your mind any, Excellency, our sub-satellite devices have turned up no evidence of heat-emanating life-forms in the Death Frontier. Just the typical cold-blooded fauna."

"Mm hmm. Indeed… Any evidence of buildings?"

Dorian shook his head. "Besides," he continued, "they're too groomed. Too privileged. They'll never last in the desert that long."

"I suppose that's true," Frahma agreed, quietly.

But somehow, it didn't calm him.

"Well anyway," he continued, "something must be done. Do you agree, Dorian, that we could set up stronger defenses and countermeasures to Human escape?"

"Of course, Excellency. Whatever you want."

Frahma closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath inward. "Good. I want walls … I want walls and traps. … and a plan for the most devastating, frightening, and horrible creature you can devise to catch any and everyone who so desires to cross our boundaries."

Dorian nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Excellency. I'll get Savan on it immediately."

His Royal Authority nodded once to the head of Parliament, then bid him adieu, and strode briskly from the office.

* * *

_She had short hair. One of the few women of her breed he'd ever seen with it. She'd lost it once through a childhood illness, but had never bothered to grow it long once she'd recovered. It always lay smooth and silky against her head, like a young boy's, parted on the side, wisps of bangs flying in her eyes._

_And her eyes had been something. Large, watery and filled with boundless love, their brightness revealed her youthful happiness, not just with him, but with life and the world. Like deep, scarlet pools …_

_Her figure had been slight and rather boyish, but when done up in the waist cincher and fancy skirts, she looked heavenly, like an angel. She was everything he wasn't: kind, loving, accepting, forgiving. She was perfect … There were those who'd said she chose him because he was intelligent, handsome, charming and wealthy, but he'd never been so sure. He liked to think it was because they each gave the other something that was otherwise missing: he lent her the backbone she didn't have, and she provided him with a heart …_

_Whatever made her choose him still escaped him, but he'd fallen head-over-heels immediately, and they'd become inseparable. They married after only four short months of courtship. _

_She'd been his _real_ pride and joy, now forever lost to the gods …_

* * *

"… But the _real_ advantage, Your Excellency, would be in making the fort entirely mobile."

"Hmm, indeed. And have you researched the logistics of such a feat?"

"I have, Excellency. Entirely within our realm of ability. Our power has grown exponentially, thanks you and Charle, and making a mere fort moveable wouldn't require nearly as much power as keeping an entire city afloat indefinitely."

"Certainly. And what sort of advantages would the fort provide?"

"A spectacular aerial view of the entirety of Endiness. And more detailed views of whatever portion of the continent you desire," Faust said, triumphantly. "Theoretically, the fort could be a deadly, destructive weapon and surveillance point."

"And could this have the potential to quash the growing rebellion?" Frahma asked, hope grazing his voice.

"It's bothering you, isn't it, Sir?"

He chose to ignore the incorrect address and nodded. "Yes. It has since Diaz escaped. It's been nearly two years, and I haven't heard much."

"Perhaps he perished, Your Authority. I can't imagine such a rebellious slave would remain quiet for so long."

"It is equally possible that he successfully made it to the cooler northern regions."

"Wouldn't the radar from Mayfil have spotted him and responded?" Faust asked, frowning.

"Perhaps … perhaps not. I would have been notified, don't you think?"

Faust shrugged. "If you ask me, Excellency, you should've killed him at the first disruption. I wouldn't have given him so many chances."

"I don't care what you would have done," Frahma snapped. "Diaz was _my_ slave. My problem. My responsibility."

"I was merely stating my opinion, Sir. I'm entitled to it. I don't believe the Humans should be granted freedom of will. They'll rebel every time."

"It's not like I have the power to change Soa's plan," Frahma scoffed. "Delay it, yes. Entirely alter it? No."

"Then a little tighter hand on them might do them well—"

"Are you saying I'm too weak? That I can't handle my own affairs properly?"

"You have the power, do you not?" Faust retorted hotly.

Frahma narrowed his eyes, fighting to remain calm. "I would that you refrain from using such tones with me, Ignatius."

"I apologize."

The two men stared at each other for a moment, uncomfortable silence growing between them. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed.

Finally, Faust shook his head and turned his attention back to the spiraling tower before them. "At any rate," he said, "I believe production should begin immediately, if possible. I'd like to command the skies from all angles … with your permission."

He added the last portion almost as an afterthought; he'd hesitated. It annoyed Frahma.

"Duly noted, Ignatius," he quipped, swallowing his irritation. He forced a smile. "However, I have one request."

"Yes?"

"You must keep a keen eye out for escapes."

Faust started to chuckle, like he thought Frahma was kidding. Then he thought the better of it. "I will, Excellency," he said firmly. "No one will get by on my watch."

"Good. Carry on, then."

And Frahma left Faust to his work.

* * *

_She was taken from him only thirteen years ago, but sometimes it felt like eons and others it felt like it had been only yesterday._

_He still remembered their time together; it was nearly thirty years but felt so much shorter. They'd honeymooned across Endiness, visiting friends and relatives in each of the five Signet cities, him as her tour guide. For all her educational and cultural background, she had never left Kadessa, and he was delighted to show her the realm that would one day be his. _

_Had he been a bloodline heir? No. It was back when Kadessa still elected her leaders. He'd been the obvious choice, favored by the people and the politicians alike. They voted him as _'Rectorem Summum'_ almost as soon as he'd taken office._

_And then their son had been born. They'd both rejoiced and mourned at the same time … he was dead within two days._

_It had struck her hardest. He'd seen it as an opportunity to try again. She'd seen it as a curse from the gods. She resented him for a while. He resented the resentment. But then they'd recovered somehow and had a daughter. _

_Even as much of a hellion as Urele was, she was the apple of her mother's eye. She doted on Urele in much the same way Charle did. He liked to joke that the Empress would have opened a school in her own home if she could. She adored children. She thought it terrible they hadn't had more._

_And it was too bad she'd been taken from them all before Urele could bear her own progeny._

_She hadn't been able to meet her grandchildren …_

* * *

"Ah, Charle. How are you?"

Frahma opened his arms to receive her in an embrace, but she sat where she was and only smiled at him. He dropped his arms and joined her at the little bistro table, picking up a menu.

"I've heard what a busy day you have ahead," she remarked quietly. "Such a terrible shame that you can't grieve properly … and today, especially. Mi—"

"Don't you dare speak her name." His voice was low and vicious.

"Sorry, Melbie. Sometimes I forget how attached you were to her. It's—"

"Let's discuss something else."

The siblings were silent for a moment, just staring at each other. The waitress came by and took their order, and still, they hadn't spoken to each other. Finally, Charle relaxed and took a sip of water.

"It's all right, Melbie. We won't talk about it. Anyway, regarding the situation with Urele. I think you really ought to rein her in and do something about her affairs, if Dorian refuses to. It's scandalizing the entire family."

"My daughter is a grown woman, Charle. It's her—"

"But don't you think it's just a tad uncouth? Really, Melbie …" Charle looked away in disdain. "At the very least, she could stop tramping around with the Hum—"

"Urele is not _tramping_ around!"

"Well the children are getting the wrong idea—"

"They're fine. They have a father as a role model."

"But the girls—"

Frahma slapped the table fiercely, making Charle jump and the silverware clatter. It silenced his sister effectively, but now his mood had plummeted and he felt one of those intense headaches gnawing at his temples.

"Charle," he said coldly, "you've moved away. It was your choice to leave. I assumed you wanted no part in the politics of Kadessa or otherwise. That includes my family."

"I'm not allowed to see my own niece and her children?" Charle managed to sound both incredulous and self-righteous at the same time.

"Do you have nothing to say to me that isn't criticism?"

"It's out of love, baby brother …"

He narrowed his eyes and blinked slowly, trying in vain to ward off the headache. Charle swallowed and set her hands in her lap. It seemed they hardly agreed about anything anymore, and her considerations on _everything _grated on his last nerve—all of it, from the way he'd raised his daughter after her mother's passing, to the way he dealt with his slaves, to the way he managed his power. The waitress brought the food and set it in front of them; neither of them touched it, and neither missed the look of pity in the waitress's eyes.

"It would seem we're at an impasse," Charle said, finally, picking up a sweet potato wedge. "Just as in years past. Fine. Let's discuss a topic we can both agree on: namely, the growing number of Human escapees."

"Finally … something interesting." Frahma took a sip of the frothy, fruity beverage he'd ordered, considered it a moment, then set it down. "I discussed a few options this morning with Dorian. We both believe greater action should be taken in prevention, rather than make any attempts to solve the issues on the fringe. They'll probably all die out there, having been cared for so long."

"But you've heard the rumors of resistance … they can't have _all_ gone insane. There must be some other reason for the breakouts."

"Well sure there is, Charle! There always has been! What makes you think these escapes are any different from the ones in years past?"

"They're certainly more numerous!"

"Well the population's grown. It's understandable that there would be higher numbers of—"

Charle shook her head ruefully and said, "It's not due to population, Melbie. You know that."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to start preaching your sanctimonious crap about rulers with an iron fist."

"Well, I—"

"Never mind," Frahma said, sighing heavily.

Charle nibbled at her lunch, quietly regarding him from under long, gaudy eyelashes.

"I trust you're handling the Crystal Sphere responsibly," she said finally.

"I have it safely concealed in my staff." He patted the thing at his side.

"It's an awful lot of power for one man."

"I'm no mere mortal, Charle. And we agreed the power would be distributed. It has been. You know that as well as I do."

"But this is a god we're talking about, Melbie," she protested. "Soa's beginning to the end. You can't just manhandle its power like it's some—"

"Here we go again … Save the speech for someone who can tolerate it, Charle. I believe I'd had enough lectures for one day."

He stood, nodding respectfully to his sister, complete with a little half-bow. He set payment for the meal on the table.

"Lunch is on me, sister," he said, forcing himself to be jovial. "Have them box the meal and send it to me. I wish you a pleasant afternoon and a safe journey home."

And he turned and headed off down the street, his robe billowing behind him.

* * *

"_I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice husky with sorrow. "I'm sorry … I couldn't protect you."_

_He remembered why he only visited once a year on the eve of her death's anniversary. All of the horrible memories came flooding back in a rush of hatred, abhorrence and truth. Cold, ugly truth._

_The whole ordeal wouldn't have been nearly as sorrowful if it hadn't also been so ironic. _

_She'd adored tea time, relishing the fellowship with family and friends and thoroughly enjoying every cup of tea placed before her. Her favorite, though, had always been dandelion tea. It always made him laugh that such a beautiful, sweet woman liked such a bitter beverage. _

_He didn't think it would have hurt him so badly if she'd died any other way. In an accident of her own making, or from a deadly illness. In some ways, he wished she would have killed herself, because at least then, he would be to blame. _

_But it wasn't true and never could be. He knew, deep in his soul, that her death was the reason for the way he was now. _They_ were the reason for it …_

_The girl—the slave … Astrid had been her name. _

_They'd both been in the house kitchen; Astrid preparing the mid-morning tea and the mistress relaxing and enjoying the sunrise through the kitchen's bay window. When the slave finished her task, she threw open the swinging door to the foyer with her hip, holding the silver tea tray in both hands._

_Astrid had then paused, throwing her foot out to catch the door for the Empress, but her mistress didn't turn around. She'd remained in the kitchen, opening mail and enjoying her morning cup of tea. Astrid had gone on, about her duties, and upon her return, the fateful event occurred. _

_She'd pushed against the door hard, intending it to swing wide for her to bring the tea tray in, but she instead met resistance on the other side._

_Her mistress had gotten up and moved to the door to call for more tea, holding her precious bone and mother-of-pearl teacup against her breast. The door struck her just so, smashing the teacup into tiny, deadly shards, slicing the young woman's wrists open and driving the pieces into her chest._

_And that's how he'd lost the love of his life. His wife. … His heart._

_Astrid had been heartbroken and probably would have done herself in if he hadn't, as punishment for the carelessness she exhibited. He executed the rest of her family, too, for good measure, ridding the house of the clumsy oafs who murdered her and ruined him. All of them—Astrid, her husband Radnor, her son Garin. All gone, like his precious beloved._

_He threw himself prostrate and wept._

* * *

He tossed the thing gently in the air and caught it in his palm; it hit with a soft 'slap.' He rolled it between his long fingers, the greenish gas inside it bouncing off the glass independently of his movement. It was smooth and relatively light. No bigger than a medium-sized stone.

_No, like an egg_, he thought. _How fitting …_

It was strange how something so apparently small could have the potential to be so destructive. He technically held the future of the world in his hands. He recalled his conversation with Faust earlier in the day.

_He couldn't admit to my power because he doesn't know its truth yet._

Frahma laughed to himself.

_I could change the course of history. I could singlehandedly modify the future. I _did_ change Soa's plan, and I could alter it further, too, if I so desired._

Did he desire?

He sighed deeply, but his momentary quiet was interrupted by the slam of the door as his new footman entered and brought him the gin and tonic he'd ordered. The boy eventually left after some perfunctory tidying. Frahma returned to his thoughts.

He considered all the things that needed to be accomplished in the next several weeks: the mobilization of Flanvel, the alteration of several hundred laws in Zenebatos, the construction of fences and walls to alter courses of escape … The list went on for miles, really. But somehow, he didn't mind. He felt like he could accomplish all of that and more, especially via the help of his new power. The ache in his heart still existed, but the void was filled by a new feeling.

_Her absence makes me weak and gives me strength at the same time, _he thought._ But I'll be damned if I won't have the ultimate strength one day…_

* * *

_Slowly, like a man broken but not defeated, he rose from the dirt. Not yet triumphant, but determined. Possessed with renewed energy for the cause, he stood, resolved. _

"_We'll show them one day, my darling. I'll avenge your … you. I love you, Mirele."_

_He bent, placing the bouquet of wildflowers on the headstone, a splash of color in a world otherwise so grey. Melbu Frahma then turned and stormed from the graveyard._

_Later that evening, he beat one of his slaves half to death. Her crime? Carelessness. … She'd dropped a teacup._


	6. Virtus (Virtue)

_Hey, thanks for sticking with it this far. Oookaayy, so here we introduce yet another character. At least she's an important one, though. Nonetheless, I think I need to give a disclaimer for this chapter, only because it contains some pretty ugly stuff, so here it is._

_Disclaimer: If you are offended by explicit references to, and descriptions of rape and infanticide, DO NOT read this chapter. Thank you._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Virtus_

A light snow fell as I stumbled—dragged myself—into Camp Magrad. Cold. Hungry. Tired. Miserable. Somehow I'd managed to make myself go on. Somehow I'd shaken them from my trail. Somehow ... I escaped. My first taste of freedom: bitter and sorrowful. I'd let him die. I'd let my husband _die_. He'd fallen and I ran. _I ran for my own life_. They caught him with those awful creatures. The slave catchers ...

A man met me at the edge of the camp. I could only assume he was Diaz, though he looked nothing like the man I'd once pictured. He was already a legend in many parts of the developed world. The man who'd gotten away ... I always assumed he'd be larger than life. But the man who greeted me eagerly and welcomed me to my new home with open arms was short and unassuming, frail from meager meals, grizzly and rough from cruel, harsh reality. Not at all how anyone pictures their savior, but I fell into his arms just the same.

"They're after me, Diaz," I whispered, the tears finally falling.

"It's okay now, child," he said softly, hugging me tightly and petting my hair.

Somehow I felt _his_ pain through the embrace. And when we finally parted and strode about the camp, his arm slung around my shoulders like I was an old friend, I spilled my soul to him.

* * *

I used to be a maid—a slave, just like all the others.

Well, at least that's how it started.

I was born the daughter of a laborer and a midwife. I was sold at age five and never saw them again. It was painful in many ways and a relief in many others. I suppose I shouldn't complain. Many before me had it much worse and many after me may have it worse yet. Others experienced the same horrors and likely reaped the same miserable reward, so I should be grateful. I got out alive. Most don't.

My master, an elderly technician at Magical City Aglis, was, for the most part, a kind man. He never beat me and rarely was I punished. I returned the favor by staying quiet and out of his way. He was single and lived alone with his three servants. I cleaned and cared for his estate, a modest house by Wingly means but a mansion by most standards, and he often brought me to work with him, where I cleaned the laboratory.

There I met several nice people, some Winglies, some Humans. Syuveil, in particular, comes to mind. He worked with a Wingly researcher named Savan. I was impressed that his master allowed him to study matters supposedly too convoluted for Human understanding. I often wonder if he got out...

My owner was really more of a father than a master. He essentially raised me in the absence of my parents. I sometimes wish it could have gone on forever that way—me cleaning for him and he enjoying my company—but it didn't. My life changed dramatically just a few months after I turned eighteen.

It was a rather rainy, dreary day outside and my master had chosen to remain at home rather than go to work. It seemed that happened more and more often. He'd been growing ill for several weeks at that point (though I just assumed it was old age creeping in), so it didn't surprise me much that he was still in bed when I entered his chamber to dust that morning.

However, halfway through my duties, I realized I didn't hear the soft snoring so typical of my master, and I approached his bedside, both curious and terrified. At the time I didn't understand what had me so afraid-death?-but now I know. It wasn't my master's death I was afraid of. It was his absence, which meant I would be sold. And sold, I was.

They auctioned off Master's property, including us, at the public market in Kadessa. I'd never been to the capital city, so all I could do was stare as they led us through the streets in chains, connected like dangerous animals. I was young, but much too smart to try to break free. My wrists and ankles were bound and shackled, and everyone was watching.

When we reached the shopping district, the traders led us to the auction circle, a seedy, fast-paced portion of the market dedicated to slave trading and property auctions. Auctioneers rambled prices and facts at the speed of Wingly teleportation, shoving slaves this way and that as bidders won and stepped up to receive their prize. Everywhere, people shouted out prices and gimmicks, advertising their wares and haggling with customers to ensure themselves the best profit. Prostitutes beckoned the weak in mind and spirit to indulge themselves in their lairs.

We were left at an auctioneer's platform near a fruit stand. I was hungry and the pomegranates the merchant had for sale looked awfully tasty. Really, though, I was too wrapped up in what would become of me to worry about my stomach for very long.

The auctioneer was busy advertising a teenaged boy with broad shoulders and a shock of messy black hair. He looked sad and empty. I had yet to understand his hardships.

"Here we have a strapping young buck with the strength of an ass! Good for chopping, pulling or whatever hard labor you deem necessary! What'll you say? Let's start the bidding at three-hundred gold! Do I hear four?"

"Four-fifty!"

"Seven!"

"Nine-hundred gold!"

The auctioneer grinned and rambled on as prices climbed higher and higher. No doubt he would receive a cut of the day's winning bids.

"Do I hear twelve? Going once ... twice ... SOLD! To the man in the blue hat for eleven-hundred and fifty!"

The auctioneer shoved the boy from the platform, nearly toppling him to his death. The boy's new owner came by to receive him, but before he even reached the scaffolding, the auctioneer yanked me by my hair onto center stage, leaving his assistants to deal with the customers.

"Step right up! That's it! Take a look what I got here!" he cried. "A fine, young lass by the name of Shirley, with excellent cleaning and cooking skills and the possibility for breeding to boot! What'll you give for her? Let's start the bidding at two hundred!"

The auctioneer held tightly onto my forearm, nearly crushing it with the force of his grip. He was a tall, gangly man with sinewy muscles and a goofy, clownish grin. He wore an ugly tweed suit and smelled strongly of cheap cologne. I forced myself to look out at the crowd, rather than hang my head in shame like all the others.

"Three!"

"Five-fifty!"

"Seven!"

"Eight hundred!"

One bidder was a neatly-dressed Wingly with a rotund belly, and another was a rough-looking guy with a steely face. A group of smart alecks near the left of the platform sniggered and made some snide remarks to the auctioneer.

"Breeder, huh? She sure is pretty!"

"Look a' them long legs! Bet they'd wrap clear 'round ya, Barney!" He jabbed the man next to him in the ribs.

"Hey! Let's see those titties o' hers! I bet they're just as purdy!" Barney shouted.

The auctioneer grasped the neck of my tunic to yank downward, but I jerked away, screaming in rage. He yanked sharply on my hair to bring me upright again.

"And look!" he cried. "She's feisty too!"

"One thousand!" someone called.

"Twelve!"

"Thirteen-fifty!"

I clutched my shackled hands over my breast, horrified that they'd rather bid on my body than my skills. My chin finally dropped to my chest. I couldn't stand to look at the reality of the market any longer.

"Fourteen!"

"Fourteen-fifty!"

"Sixteen hundred!"

"Sixteen hundred!" the auctioneer cried, triumphant. "Do I hear seventeen? ... Sixteen-fifty? ... Going once ... going twice ... SOLD!"

I looked up long enough to see the winning bidder, a sharply-dressed Wingly man with a straight face and a serious air about him. He reminded me a little of my former master, and it brought tears to my eyes.

The auctioneer shoved me away to welcome another slave onto the stage, and I shuffled toward the exit staircase. My new master met me there, where he paid the auctioneer's assistant and took possession of my papers. He then led me away toward the city gates, but there, we paused.

He placed a hand under my chin and tilted my head up so I could look him in the eyes. He scrutinized me, inspecting my every inch, it seemed. But I got a good look at him as well. He was ruggedly handsome and poised, and no doubt dangerous as well. He ran a finger along my cheek and his thin lips slowly spread into a smirk.

I suddenly felt fearful, but I had no idea of the true cruelty and misery I would soon face.

* * *

Diaz handed me a mug of steaming hot chocolate and sat across from me at the table. He took a sip from his own mug.

"Cruel, huh?" he mused. "Aren't they all?" His eyes flashed with hatred and hurt.

I frowned. "I didn't mean to imply that—"

"I understand."

Diaz's eyes were once again kind. There was no denying that he'd once had the most impossibly cruel master alive.

"Go on, Shirley," he said, laying a hand over mine. "You must tell your story to begin the healing process."

_Healing_, I thought bitterly. _Impossible in light of the circumstances. I will never truly heal from such horror. None of us ever will. _

But I drank some hot chocolate, heaved a sigh and went on.

"It happened over a period of many months. Years, even ..."

* * *

His name was Janus Querveld, and he ran a medical practice in Mayfil, where he conducted autopsies on the dead and risky experimental treatments on patients doomed to die. He lived on an elegant estate with his young wife, Clareice, a woman clearly his junior by at least twenty years. She was pretty and stylish ... and the meanest woman I'd ever met.

I wasn't the only slave Dr. Querveld had purchased that day; he bought a cook, several laborers, and me, whom he intended as a ladies' maid for his wife. It's unfortunate that such a life of apparent luxury managed to escape me. Madame, as she preferred to be addressed, managed the household like a general, with strict rules for decorum and decency. She expected the best—the utmost respect and disciplined behavior—from her husband and her slaves alike. I felt sorry for her that she received neither.

Dr. Querveld was quite the womanizer. He was well-known for stepping out on Madame, a fact that often surprised most people because of her age. One would assume she were the cheater, with her beauty and poise, but there must have been something about the doctor's rugged features and old-world charm that made women flock to him like flies to manure.

And it wasn't just Wingly women. He flirted brazenly with the slaves too, particularly that female cook he'd bought with me, making eyes at her as she served dessert and whispering in her ear to ask for a simple cup of coffee. He practically threw himself at her. Worse, she flirted back, reinforcing his behavior. I was shocked, to say the least.

I'd been working for the Quervelds for only six months, and already I'd realized the situation in the household. Madame wasn't stupid. She knew of her husband's affairs, but I don't think she really minded as much as she led him to believe. She loved control more than she loved Dr. Querveld.

However, his affairs with slaves _did _bother her sensibilities, and she made it known. She lectured us almost daily against interacting with Winglies on a sexual level; she declared it debauchery, a sin, a crime against the Divine Tree and blatant defiance of Soa's will. She made sure we understood Winglies' supremacy, their lordship over Humanity.

And she always punished those who dared to disobey. It seemed for every new woman the doctor slept with, two slaves were punished, and not lightly, either. Madame slapped us, beat us, whipped us, and tortured us until she felt satisfied that the punishment fit the crime. It was almost always unjust.

But I knew it had to be more common than Madame led us all to believe. Hers was not the sole family touched by miscegenation. A man with unparalleled control over his household had obvious access to anything he wanted, especially the affections of his female slaves. Myself included.

**o-.O.-0-.O.-o**

It was nearly two years before I became the object of his attention.

He'd gone through just about every other female slave in his stead before he got to me. He joked that he was saving the best for last, but I wasn't flattered. There would be many others after me.

Ultimately, I gave in and did as he asked because I was afraid of the consequences if I didn't. It was true that Madame was powerful, but when it came down to it, Dr. Querveld was strong, and I feared his blows more than I did Madame's.

The first time he approached me, I was busy cleaning the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and looked me up and down as I scrubbed the inside of the stove.

"You're really doing a nice job," he said, his voice smooth. I fought the urge to throw up.

"Thank you, sir," I said, as politely as I could manage.

"I mean, I bet you'd do a better job on me, if you catch my drift."

I glanced at him and he raised his eyebrows seductively. I forced the bile in my throat back down.

"Hmm? Whaddaya say, Shirley?" he pressed. "I'm not a bad lookin' man."

I swallowed hard and turned to the laundry basket I'd placed near the doorway for when I'd finished cleaning.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I replied nonchalantly. "I've got laundry to finish."

And I left the room before I had a chance to see his reaction. It's too bad it didn't stop him from continuing his pursuit of me.

The second time he approached was much more straightforward. I was again in the kitchen, this time washing the dishes from dinner.

"Hey," he said, laying a hand on my arm as I dried my hands off. "How about that offer I made you last week?"

I just stared at him, not knowing how to disarm his advance.

He tipped his head to the side and flashed a toothy grin. If I'd been a forty or fifty year old woman I might have found him attractive, but I wasn't interested. I was twenty-one, virginal and completely uninterested in handing my maiden flower to such a crass man.

"Like I said, there are worse men to go to bed with." His thumb stroked my arm. My skin crawled.

Again, I hesitated. He definitely knew his way around the sexual game. Why leave such a question open-ended for a slave? I knew he'd take me anyway, regardless of my response.

"I didn't buy you for your body, you know," he said gently, tracing a little pattern on the skin of my forearm. "But it's a happy accident that you happen to be so talented at cleaning and so pretty as well."

It was a lie, of course. He'd only bid once, _after _the comments about my body, with a price so outrageous for a female slave that no one dared outbid him. I had a feeling Dr. Querveld had a habit of purchasing slaves based on his attraction to them.

"Come on, Shirley. I'm giving you the option. Don't make me get forceful." His voice was still gentle and soothing.

I really had no choice, so I relented. There was no other way around it this time. I had no laundry to finish, no more dishes to do, no excuses; my work for the day was finished, and I could tell he knew it. He'd approached me this time with a game plan in mind. He didn't want anything to interrupt his advances. I'd lost this round.

Dr. Querveld bent over me, nuzzling the exposed flesh of my neck and gently pulling back my tunic to reveal my shoulder. His breath on my skin tingled and I sighed heavily.

_This isn't how it's supposed to be_, I thought desperately. _Soa, it's not ... it's not ..._

He kissed along my neck, slowly and seductively, like he thought it would bring me around. Then, like a proud bridegroom on his wedding night, he lifted me into his arms and carried me somewhere more private. To his own bedchamber, no less, where the mistress could walk in at any time and see him making love to another woman. A woman of a breed she hated.

Piece-by-piece, he discarded articles of clothing, his and mine both, tossing them to the floor in heaps. He took his time wooing me with kisses and caresses, like he genuinely thought I would enjoy his performance. He rubbed my breasts and sucked my nipples and put his hands between my legs from time to time to see how wet I was. I knew I wasn't.

I numbed myself from it then, stepping inward, into my inner consciousness, and refusing to emerge until it was all over.

But that didn't stop the tears from leaking onto the pillow as he pushed into me. The tearing of my virginal barrier was painful emotionally and physically, and not something one willingly does unless deeply in love or held in chains against one's will. I would have rather the former be my lot.

He kissed me but I didn't kiss him back. He relished my nakedness but I kept my eyes tightly closed. He was confident and suave; I was timid, frightened and locked tightly within myself. He was gentle and attentive and not at all how I imagined what being raped would be like. Was it rape? Was saying nothing consent? I wasn't fighting back. I couldn't. I'd be risking life and limb if I did. I valued my life more than my pride, so I let him do what he liked to me, even when it meant kneeling before him and allowing him to ram himself down my throat to finish.

And so he started a three-year-long, one-sided affair with me. I didn't hate him, not really. At least, I didn't until he changed.

At first it was just some hair-pulling and rude words, but then it got worse.

He'd force me to service him when I least expected it, pressing my back to the kitchen counter and driving into me with animal ferocity. He held me down and tied me up, binding my arms and legs to a bed or the wall or wherever he saw fit. He began whipping me with whatever he could get his hands on and gagging me with one of Madame's 'kerchiefs. He once placed his hands around my neck during a sexual encounter, choking me half to death, and I felt his penis grow harder as I fought to remain conscious. It turned him on to see someone wholly and completely under his control.

And that's when I finally understood. Madame possessed control of him and everything else in their house, so he needed control of his own. It was sad and pathetic, and I felt sorry for him.

He gradually grew tired of me, though. I thanked the Divine Tree every time the doctor passed up my quarters for someone else's.

But the worst part of it all was yet to come.

I missed two of my menses before I figured out what had happened, and when I did, I cried myself to sleep, worrying and fretting over my future.

I was pregnant with my master's bastard child.

**o-.O.-0-.O.-o**

She had vivid turquoise eyes and bright, platinum hair. Her skin was soft and pale, but the evidence of her paternity was as plain as the nose on her face; she shared it with Dr. Querveld. I named her Amelda, after my mother.

I hated myself for falling in love with the little girl, but I couldn't change it. She was as much his as she was mine. I couldn't fault her for it. I loved her just the same, regardless of her paternity. More than anything, though, I feared for her. I dreaded Madame's reaction; she would surely know her husband was the girl's father.

So I hid her. I kept her out of sight as best I could while I worked, but a wailing infant isn't exactly the best kept of secrets.

Perhaps one of the other slaves gave me away. I hadn't exactly been able to take proper steps to hide my pregnancy. I was only lucky that my small frame ensured a small child. Maybe a woman jealous for Dr. Querveld's affections discovered her. Perhaps it was ultimately my own ignorance and naïveté. The doctor had known I was pregnant and perhaps he did away with her to avoid his wife's wrath.

It was all the same, I suppose.

I returned from my duties to my quarters that night, only to find my dear baby girl strangled to death in her makeshift cradle.

* * *

"It was for the best, of course. You do realize that, right?"

Diaz's voice broke the protection of my daze wide open and I gasped to keep the tears away.

"Shirley?"

I coughed and nodded, turning my face away to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my robe.

I'd nearly committed suicide over it. Stupid, because I knew she wasn't meant to exist. So I suppose I understood. She'd needed to die for her own good. She couldn't have continued to live in a world where her father was free and her mother wasn't. She couldn't live in a world where the greatest conflicts were the very conflicts of her own pedigree. Nothing beautiful or wonderful would have come of her existence except my own selfish happiness. The child was a spot on the falsely pristine reputation of the Winglies, and she would have been served a much harsher death had she lived. No ... it was better that she died an infant. She, at least, had been spared the ugly Fate of her mother's race.

"I know you're suffering," Diaz said quietly. "We can stop, if you like, and continue some other—"

"No," I said with a sniffle. "I can do this."

And I did. I went on with my story.

* * *

It was a lovely ceremony ... for slaves, anyway.

He was friendly and agreeable, and though we'd only met twice before (one being the ride home from the market where we'd both been purchased), I didn't mind being forced to marry him. I didn't love him, but I certainly preferred his company to that of Dr. Querveld or Madame.

The doctor officiated the ceremony, in accordance with tradition, and Weylon and I repeated the pre-written vows to each other. It was simple and quick, but replete with the heartfelt beauty of a life event.

We'd hardly jumped the broomstick, however, when Madame spirited me away from my new husband and the party. While everyone else carried on in the yard under the sparkling lights and stars, she led me into the mudroom in the back of the house, where she regarded me smugly.

"You know full well why we did this, don't you?" she asked.

"Did what?" I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. I marveled at how daring I'd become following the death of Amelda. Three years ago I never would have stood up to a Wingly.

"Married you off," Madame replied nonchalantly, as if my rudeness didn't bother her. I was entirely surprised she hadn't backhanded me yet.

In terms of the wedding, though, I'd had an inkling all along that it was her way of keeping the doctor away from me, but I remained silent.

"I suspected as much," she cooed, smiling wickedly. Her dark red lipstick made her look even more like the evil witch she was.

"It had to be done because you're a troublesome little girl and I wanted you out of my hair."

"And you're convinced marrying me to another man will keep your husband under your wing?"

Madame's crooked smile vanished instantly. "At least it will keep your hands off of him."

"Not a problem," I said. "It was _his _hands on _me _that was the issue."

"Don't _lie_!" she screamed. "He's a good-looking man! Don't deny you want him because _everyone _wants him! You're nothing but a filthy little bitch! I ought to have you—"

"Whipped? Burned? Stoned?" I laughed bitterly. "You've already done those and then some. Do your worst. It couldn't possibly hurt me more than losing my daughter."

"You mean _my _daughter," Madame sneered. "She was supposed to be mine. But you got to bear a half-breed for him. Oh no. That was _not _going to happen. Not under my roof. I stopped that from getting any worse."

The revelation was like hitting a solid brick wall. It knocked the wind out of me and I stepped back, my hands flying to my mouth in surprise.

"You ... you ..." I stammered, unable to get the words out.

"That's right, you sick, stupid little bitch," Madame snarled, proud of herself. "I murdered your babe. I _murdered _her. To show you how helpless you Humans really are and to teach you a lesson."

She inched closer, placing her face very near mine, so close our noses almost touched. I had to force myself to meet her gaze.

"Now hear me, Shirley," she said viciously, "don't _ever _let me catch you whoring around with my man again, or you will pay. Severely. Are we understood?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Madame didn't respond. She just straightened her posture to its usual awkwardly upright pose and sauntered away, high heels clacking on the marble floor. I watched her go, then sat on the ground and cried.

I returned to the party eventually. Weylon was happy to see me all right, but deep down, I wasn't all right.

I should have been happy. Grateful. I should have been enjoying myself.

But I wasn't.

Madame's words buzzed around my head like a deadly wasp, jabbing at any shred of happiness and injecting it with poison. I couldn't be happy and never would be because I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Dr. Querveld would call on me again.

And neither I nor Weylon would be able to stop him.

Somehow, though, Weylon lessened the pain of losing Amelda, and I was surprised when Dr. Querveld stopped coming to see me. Weylon and I hadn't even been married two months, and suddenly, I was the happiest I'd been since losing my first master. Weylon and I lived quietly in a little cabin in the backyard, near where the other laborers lived. He continued to manage the grounds and maintain the house, and I continued to clean the estate and assist Madame.

Things were going extremely well, and then it seemed the best thing that could have happened did.

Weylon and I got pregnant.

* * *

Diaz's face fell, like he already knew what had happened before I said anything, but he asked the question anyway.

"I see you haven't brought a child with you," he said, his voice choking on the words.

I nodded, ready to cry myself, but I still urged him on. He needed to know. I needed closure.

"They took him from you too?" Diaz looked up, his eyes watery and fully of sympathy. Our strangely common past hurdled at me like a runaway Roc and I was powerless to get out of its way.

I sighed deeply, trying in vain to snatch at my last bit of composure.

"I'll get to that," I said finally.

And I continued my tale.

* * *

He was born in the middle of the night, a tiny baby boy with vivid blue eyes and hair so blonde it looked white. He was a happy baby, never crying loudly or demanding much attention as his sister had. We named him Zerxe, a name of power and greatness. Weylon doted on the little dear, holding him and cooing over him like he was the last real joy we'd ever have.

The sad truth was that he probably was just that.

Of course our happiness couldn't last, and it didn't. I knew it wouldn't, deep in my soul, but the horror that really awaited us I never could have imagined, even in my wildest nightmares.

I wasn't about to leave my child alone while working again, so Weylon had crafted a sling for Zerxe so I could carry him about while fulfilling my duties. The little boy seemed to enjoy the trips around the great house, and it appeared to work. Already he'd outlived his sister by four months.

But it didn't stop Madame and the doctor from scrutinizing the poor child every time we were nearby.

I was cleaning the guest bathroom one night when who else should enter but Dr. Querveld. He had absolutely no business there, yet there he stood.

"Handsome kid you've got there," he remarked, leaning casually against the wall.

"Thank you, sir," I replied, then added for good measure, "He belongs to my husband, if you're wondering."

"But his hair-"

"Is blonde, because his father is blonde."

"Hmm ... indeed." He paused for a moment, then went on. "Anyway, I miss you, Shirley. It's such a shame that we can't raise our daughter together, now."

I felt the bile rising in my throat again.

"What good would it do, sir?" I asked, not turning to look at him. "She was a half-breed. Someone would have killed her anyway."

"No," he said immediately. "I wouldn't allow it."

I shook my head, battling the tears. I suddenly felt strange emotions I'd never experienced before. Though I knew I didn't love Dr. Querveld, his mention of our daughter tugged at my heartstrings. He took my virginity. He was the first man I was with sexually, even if it was because he'd raped me.

_There's no way_, I thought, resisting the small temptation to acquiesce. _No way he would have been a good father to her. He let her die ... He wouldn't protect me, and he doesn't love me. He doesn't love at all. _

"What do you say we try again?" he asked, stepping forward to lay a hand on my shoulder. It slowly slid downward, beneath my tunic, to find the soft flesh of my breast.

"No," I said, finally turning around.

I met the doctor's eyes, and I hoped desperately that I looked as confident as he always did. I threw his hand off.

"No," I said firmly. "I refuse to beget another doomed child."

And I left the room, outraged that he'd even attempt to rekindle the affair after what had happened. And he _knew! _He knew what I'd gone through when I lost Amelda and he felt no remorse. No sadness of his own, even though she was his child as well. His nonchalance was obvious by the way he'd wanted to 'try again,' acting like children were commodities one could go to market and purchase, and then toss away when they grew boring or troublesome.

I wouldn't stand for it. No, not again.

**o.-O-.0.-O-.o**

Madame's presence around my child was much worse, however.

"What a beautiful little boy," she said, entering our cabin one day as I set Zerxe down for a nap.

I turned around, regarding her uneasily.

"Thank you," I said, slowly, my voice sounding as guarded as I was.

"It's such a shame that I wasn't able to have children." She walked to Zerxe's crib and cooed at the baby in mother-ese.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Visiting," Madame replied simply, reaching into the crib to tickle the baby. I wasn't amused.

"What are you doing?" I demanded sharply.

She ignored me, and plucked my son from his crib, cradling him as though he were her child. She put her finger in his mouth and he suckled on it. I suddenly feared that she'd given him some sort of poison, but he appeared perfectly fine when she turned back to me.

"He's not your husband's, is he?" she asked. It sounded like a perfectly normal question in tone, but I read every bit of hatred and wrath beneath its innocent surface.

"Yes, he is," I replied through gritted teeth.

Madame shook her head, her expensive bauble earrings jangling about. "No, he's not. He's got white hair, for Soa's sake!"

"It's blonde. Weylon's blonde."

"But this is _white_," Madame insisted. "Only Wingly babies are born with white hair."

"But he wouldn't be a full-blood Wingly anyway—"

"Ah, so you admit it!"

"No!"

Madame's pleasant demeanor turned suddenly cold. "There's no use in denying it, Shirley," she snapped. "Janus told me what a dirty little whore you are! Such a little slut! How dare you get pregnant by him again!"

"I didn't!" I protested. "I promise! I swear!" It felt like my heart had taken a nosedive. Any bravery and bravado I'd demonstrated earlier flew out the window. "Oh, please, Madame..."

"You _did _and I know it. He said it himself."

Anger and betrayal bubbled up in chest, but I couldn't let it affect my judgment.

"You're mistaken, please..." I whined, knowing my pleading would ultimately have no bearing on Madame's action.

"I warned you, Shirley," she said softly, sounding almost motherly. "I gave you a chance. You understood the consequences."

She turned around and headed for the door.

"No," I begged, my voice sounding pathetic even to me. "Please, Madame. I didn't. You have to believe me! He's Weylon's. I swear it. He's Weylon's. Please..."

But it was like she didn't hear a word.

She practically ran outside, my child clutched in her arms as though he were her last chance at happiness. I jogged behind her, the two of us heading to the gardens like our lives depended on it. We reached the central fountain only moments later, and Madame knelt before it like she planned to pray before God.

She stuck her hands under my son's armpits and set him in the water, almost gently, as though she were going to bathe him, and then she laid him backward, so the water passed over his face. I heard my son whimper before he went under.

She was going to drown my son while I watched.

I dove at the fountain next to Madame. My hands plunged into the frigid water, clawing at hers and reaching for my child, fighting to drag him away from her, but she quickly jerked him away, dashing his fragile head against the stone of the structure.

"I warned you!" Madame raged, forcing Zerxe's head under water. "I WARNED YOU!"

"NO!" I screamed, half in horror, half in rage. "Noooooo!"

Madame didn't listen. She fought the child's thrashing and continued to hold him under, pressing the heel of her palm to his forehead with crushing force, driving his skull to the bottom of the fountain.

"Madame, I beg you!" I bawled. "Please stop! He's not Master's child!"

But the deed was already done. My son fell limp in her arms, and she let go, letting him sink to the bottom of the fountain. She stood, but I frantically splashed through the water, feeling for the cloth of my son's swaddle. I finally found it and dragged him out, hugging his limp, lifeless body close. A giant bruise was already forming where he'd hit his head; I ran a finger over it gently, my eyes leaking tears. His mouth hung open and he was pale and cold already, but at least he'd shut his eyes as he passed, so I didn't have to endure the death stare of a helpless babe.

Then Madame turned to me, staring me down as I bawled like a baby over my son.

"I told you," she said viciously. "I said you would pay. And so you shall."

And that's how I became Madame's latest object for torture.

I told myself I'd be strong and endure it, no matter what she did to me. I'd expected some ancient torture devices and cruel methods of making me wish I was no longer alive, but nothing I could image compared to the cruelty of the reality. She began by strapping me to a wooden table in the basement. I was able to look around as she prepared herself; the basement appeared to be a kind of workshop set up for Dr. Querveld, who'd likely used it in his experiments on dead and dying patients. The floor was stained with who-knew-what, but the walls were a sterile white clapboard, not at all how I pictured a torture dungeon.

Madame collected some of her husband's medical equipment and supplies. The irony of her torturing capability didn't escape me; she was only able to maintain her control because of her husband's occupation.

"I warned you, Shirley," Madame said, turning around and coming toward me. She ran her thumb down the blade of a long kitchen knife. "Let your punishment begin."

She burned me with hot irons, sliced the skin of my legs and sides open with a scalpel, hurting me only enough to make me miserable, never enough to kill me. She pulled the hairs on my arms out, one-by-one until my arms were numb, and she placed my toes in a vice, crushing and twisting them nearly to the point of fracture. She injected me with poisons that made me feel anywhere from dizzy to delirious, and I vomited often, always aspirating some of it because I was unable to sit up.

All the while Madame laughed wickedly, enjoying her hobby, but not once did I give her the satisfaction of a negative reaction. I forced myself not to cry, not to yell, not to scream. Not once did I show her fear or attempt to apologize.

She dumped frigid water on me, and shaved my skin with a razor until raw flesh was exposed. She shocked me with an electric current every time I was about to fall asleep or pass out. She jammed sharp splinters of decaying wood under my nails, and poured acid on the bottoms of my feet.

I couldn't tell how long I was in there with her, enduring that. It might have been a few days or a week. But I last remember her spreading my legs and jamming an instrument into me. I didn't know what it was or what she actually intended to do, but the terrible pain that resulted from it was so unbearable, I couldn't help it. I screamed in agony.

And then I lost consciousness.

When I finally came to, the extreme pain in my lower abdomen told me what she'd ultimately done. It felt like I was giving birth all over again, only there was nothing for my womb to eject. In fact, the terrible burning sensation between my legs told me everything.

I'd lost the last potential in my life at my mistress' hands. She'd tortured me, and then took from me my ability to bear children. She stole my fertility. Not only was I now barren ... I had no womb at all.

* * *

Diaz hung his head, sadness and disbelief borne of horror cloaking his demeanor.

"My god," he whispered, dropping his head into his hands. He was clearly as devastated by the story as I was at having lived it. He slammed his fists against the table in frustrated rage, and then looked up at me, sorrow and pity written in his eyes.

"There's no end to their madness, is there?" he said, bitterly. "They've got to be stopped."

I nodded slowly. The full reality of what he was proposing hadn't hit me yet.

"But I'm assuming that isn't the end," Diaz went on. "It's not, is it?"

"No."

"Then please ... continue. I commiserate fully, Shirley. How did you ever get out of such a hell?"

I managed a weak smile. "I'm getting there ..."

* * *

"I'll kill the bitch! I'll kill her! I swear to Soa, I will, or ..."

"Weylon ..."

"No, Shirley! ... I can't stand it! I won't put up with it like you did!"

I choked back a sob, but managed to quietly say, "He was my son too."

My husband paused his pacing, looked at me, and his shoulders slumped like he'd suddenly realized what a horrible thing he'd just said. He walked over and sank onto the couch next to me.

"Don't do anything, Weylon," I said. "Don't do it. They'll get you back tenfold if you do."

He paused and appeared to be thinking, or at least calming his rage. I regarded him silently, praying desperately to the Divine Tree for both our sanity.

"Okay," he said finally, rubbing my back affectionately. He sighed. "You're right. I know better than to do something so rash. It would only make our situation worse. At least I'm not alone in this, right?"

He gave me a half-hearted smile. I attempted one in return, but I wasn't entirely sure Weylon was resolute in the matter. His grief seemed much deeper than mine. He was right; he wasn't familiar with the pain and sorrow of losing a child, and I wondered where that desperate, raw hatred I saw in his eyes would take him. Where it would take us...

It wasn't a week later that I walked into the great house to begin my daily duties and found the last thing I'd ever expected to be there: a grisly murder scene in the beautiful foyer.

Clareice Querveld lay sprawled on the marble floor, her gleaming white pants suit now the color of her lipstick, soaked with blood. Her blood.

I gasped at the ghastliness of the crime, dropping my bucket of cleaning supplies. My first instinct was to hide for fear I would be the target for blame. Even the other slaves couldn't be trusted. So I ducked around the corner, crouching in the shadows of the hallway, and peeked around the wall, watching the body like it would somehow come back to life and point out the killer.

My mind raced to process what I was seeing and feeling. Who killed her? Were they after the doctor? Would they kill all of the servants too?

My stomach plummeted when I finally made the connection.

He had the motive, the drive, the weapon... It wasn't paint I'd noticed on Weylon's pants earlier that day. It was blood.

_Oh no_, I thought, suppressing a mournful groan. _He's done it. He promised me he would, and the fool did it. He killed her ... We're doomed ..._

My next instinct was to run. To race right back to our cabin and confront my husband about the grisly deed he'd committed. And then we'd decide what to do from there.

So I ran.

Weylon still wore those stained trousers when he met me in the doorway of our cabin. I leapt at him, fists flying, but I didn't strike anything. He held me away and I was too hysterical to do much damage anyway.

"What's going on?!" he demanded, shaking me until I stopped swinging at him.

"You! You killed Madame to avenge Zerxe's death!"

"WHAT?!" Weylon shook me again, but I'd already started bawling hysterically. "I didn't! Where'd you come up with such a thing?!"

"M ... M, Madame is ... is ... she's _dead! _In the foyer! Blood everywhere!"

Weylon appeared shocked for a moment, but then he frowned and shook his head vigorously. "I didn't do it! Shirley, you _must _believe me!"

"But your pants! Your pants!" I wailed, pointing at them.

Weylon looked down, and I saw he was fighting the urge to laugh at me. "It's paint," he said. "I was touching up the paint on the west side of the house."

"But it's _red!"_

"Yeah," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's red, Madame's favorite color. She wanted the house redone in red."

I sniffed loudly, watching my husband out of the corner of my eye. Was he telling the truth? Was it just paint? Or was that an excuse to throw me off his trail, to get me to stop questioning him? I suddenly understood how Madame felt; it was a strange emotion, not being able to trust a loved one. I was well-accustomed to distrusting Winglies and unfamiliar slaves, but my own husband? Strange ...

I chose not to accuse him further. Did it really matter whether or not he'd done it? Our lives were pretty miserable to begin with. It wasn't like they could get much worse. So I went about my routine as usual, cleaning and mending and trying not to dwell on the fact that my mistress was now a blood-soaked corpse in her own home.

When I entered the house later that evening to clean up after dinner, I discovered that the body of Madame was gone, and the floor, walls and staircase wiped clean of blood. My mind started racing again as it made the connection.

_Weylon didn't do it, _I thought. _He said he didn't and now I know for sure. He couldn't have. He was with me ..._

I paused in the hall, and watched as Dr. Querveld descended the staircase, confident and suave as ever. His silver hair was clean and tidy, and it appeared as though he'd just washed his hands. They looked pink, as if from scalding water. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were rolled neatly to his elbows and he wore his favorite dress shoes, but everything was stained crimson and black. Blood covered those expensively tailored clothes, and I knew. He'd murdered his own wife.

I sighed in relief for Weylon, but the sound must have caught the doctor's attention because he looked my way. Our eyes locked for just a moment, but his look told me everything I needed to know.

He descended more quickly now, a smug smile tugging further at his lips with every step, and paused on the landing.

"Ahh, Shirley. Just the woman I wanted to see," he said. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? What your husband wanted?" He motioned toward where the body lay this morning.

I didn't respond, but he continued.

"I knew she murdered your children. They were crimes against me, really," he glanced away, his finger drawing little designs on the banister. Then he brought his gaze firmly back to mine. "I'm so sorry. She was an insufferable woman."

Again, I said nothing. I just watched him like a rabbit watches a hawk circling overhead. With Madame gone, he possessed all control now, and I was terrified of what he would do with it. He stepped off the stairs and walked toward me.

"Let's start over. Try again," the doctor went on. "We can be together now, see? Without her interference."

I fought the urge to shake my head and continued to stare him down.

"Again, my dear," he said, his voice growing low and silky, "don't make me force you. It won't be pretty."

"And what'll you do if I refuse?" I asked, suddenly growing brave.

Dr. Querveld raised his eyebrows in surprise, like he didn't believe I was capable of resisting anymore.

"That's yet to be determined," he said, suavely, his eyes never leaving my face. He walked around me, circling me as though a panther playing with its dinner. "Don't make me beg." His voice grew fiercer now.

_What do I do? What have I gotten myself into? _Inside, my brain screamed at me. My head felt like it was on fire, and I was sure the doctor could see me sweating.

"I've dreamt about you many nights since you were married. I can't stop thinking about you, Shirley."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, fighting to control my emotions. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to slap him ... or possibly throw up.

"It doesn't matter that you're unable to bear children any longer. I just desire you, Shirley. Our time together was so beautiful, don't you think? You're an excellent lover. I want that again ..."

I scanned the room, searching desperately for any way out of this. My eyes alighted on a cast iron lamp near the staircase. We stood a mere two yards from it. I suddenly began calculating my chances of reaching the lamp first and pummeling him with it.

"You know you want me," he growled. "And so help me Soa, I'll tell everyone around that you and your husband killed Clareice if you won't fuck me. I _will_."

It was like he'd lit my brain on fire. Rage suddenly poured into my veins. Everything that he and Madame had ever done to me and my family came rushing back in a flood of terrible memories, charging my fury and hatred of Winglies. Their manipulation and abuse. Their absolute control...

"Please, Shirley ... I ache for you."

He lunged and grabbed my hand, pressing it to his groin so I could feel how hard he was, but at the same instant, I leapt toward the staircase, my fingers closing around the shaft of the lamp. Without a second thought, I lifted it from the stand, adrenaline now coursing through my veins, and I swung it. A split second later, it struck Dr. Querveld in his skull and he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

I dropped the lamp and took a step back.

I saw no blood, but that didn't mean I hadn't killed him. He looked pretty lifeless.

"Oh, god..." _What have I done?!_

Suddenly work didn't seem as important anymore. I immediately abandoned my night's duties and dashed back to the cabin. Weylon again met me in the doorway.

"Shirley, you can't keep doing this! Everyone's going to think you've gone—"

"Insane? I have, Weylon! I did a long a time ago! Please, you've got to listen to me!"

"Okay, okay." He grasped me by the shoulders and directed me to our threadbare couch. "Have a seat. What's going on?"

I took a deep breath and began. "I believe you that you didn't murder Madame because I know who did."

Weylon's eyebrows shot up. "You do? That's great! We'll turn them in and—"

I shook my head, cutting him off. "We can't. They'd never believe us. It's Dr. Querveld."

"But I don't—"

"And I might have just killed him."

"What? Wait a sec—"

I met my husband's eyes and he immediately quieted. I went on.

"He told me that he'd frame us for Madame's death if I didn't sleep with him again."

"So you killed him?! Shirley—"

"I don't _know _if I killed him!" I sighed and looked up at my husband. "Look. Even if I _did _kill him, we'll still be blamed. The authorities will automatically assume we committed both crimes. We had more than enough motive, Welyon."

Weylon hung his head. He knew I was right and that this was serious. I dropped my head into my hands, the reality of what I'd done slamming me full force.

"You're sure he was going to frame us?"

"He told me outright that's what he would do. But if he's alive, he's probably waking up by now."

If he was still alive Janus Querveld would surely frame us for the murder of his wife, and there was nothing we could do about it.

"I guess," Weylon said after what seemed like an eternity, "then we know what we have to do. All that's left for us is to escape."

"What?"

He looked up, his gaze meeting mine. "We've got to run away. Now."

"But—"

"Shirley, it's the only way."

My world fell out from under me then. I guess I'd always known it would come to that, but the reality of facing the unknown and unfamiliar was frightening.

"Where will we go?" I asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

"You ever hear of that Diaz guy?"

"I guess so, why?"

"He's been providing sanctuary for escaped slaves ever since he ran himself a couple years ago. They've got a whole camp set up northwest of here, in the untouched land. Magrad, I think it's called."

I hung my head. It was the only way. The only way to survive ...

We ran that night. The lights were still on in the great house, so I couldn't be sure whether the doctor had survived or not.

Once beyond the residential area of Mayfil, it became obvious how ugly the city really was. The sky above the city was black with what appeared to be storm clouds, but we knew the reality. The sky was thick with souls, the great tower sucking them from all over Endiness, dooming them to an eternity in hell or a romance with the Devildom. Winglies lived in peace in the afterlife, of course, while Humans and other creatures continued the misery of life in death.

It amazed me that only a few miles outside of the city's hub, the suburban area was romantically quaint and livable. I knew some Winglies and their Human slaves lived within the city's center, though. I couldn't imagine the terror of watching death every single day. Watching its aftermath once was more than enough for me. We could hear howling and moaning coming from the towers, the souls trapped there in unimaginable agony and despair. I shivered involuntarily.

Weylon and I gradually made our way out of the city, and I felt relieved when we reached the edge of the plain.

"We should set up camp somewhere and take a rest before we start off again," Weylon said.

"But won't we be caught?"

"We shouldn't be if we're smart about it."

He began looking around for a patch of bushes and brambles for us to sleep under. I still didn't feel safe, even after he'd built us a small fire and found us a place to lie. I spent the better part of the night worrying, rather than sleeping, but at least Weylon could rest. If he had to, he could carry me to safety.

We started off again before dawn, scattering our makeshift camp and leaving no trace that we'd been there. By noon we'd made it to the woods on the edge of the colder land to the north. We paused for a meal. Weylon managed to catch a rabbit, and we ate hurriedly. As we walked on, he carved a bow out of a small tree limb, fashioning the string from a remnant of the rabbit's gut and strengthening it with vine.

I let him work because it kept his mind off our reality. It was better than only one of us worry about it at a time. Weylon eventually slung the bow over his shoulder and turned to whittling arrow shafts. Sometime into the early afternoon of our second day of travel, we stopped so he could try out his new weapon. After shooting the bow and discovering that it worked superbly, he turned to me.

"I feel like I should teach you to shoot," he said.

"Me? Why? Why would I need to know such a thing?"

"For survival, Shirley."

He was probably right. I possessed no survival or self-preservation skills other than my will. If I had any intention of living to see my twenty-seventh birthday, I'd need to learn how to defend myself and capture my meals. So I agreed, and Weylon faithfully taught me what he knew.

I wasn't very good at any of it, but I figured even a little knowledge and practice was better than none. We practiced aiming and shooting, after I'd finally learned the proper way to hold and draw the bow. Nearly all of my arrows landed far from their target. I wasn't confident in my abilities, but Weylon insisted it was just because I wasn't in a fight-or-flight situation ... and because my muscles weren't strong enough yet.

The moons were high and bright that night, casting an eerie silver glow on everything on the earth below. We moved slowly amidst the underbrush, careful not to step too far or too quickly and risk making noise. We'd both heard the rumors by this point of the ugly creatures sent after escaped slaves to either catch them and kill them or scare them back into submission. And if the second occurred, the Winglies were just as likely to kill them anyway.

"We should split up," Weylon said. "Throw them off our tracks, you know. Circle back and meet up and then keep going."

"But what if one of us gets caught?"

I searched in the darkness for my husband's face and though I couldn't see him, I knew him well enough to know the look of resolute determination he probably wore.

"If I get caught, Shirley," he said, "I want you to run. Keep going."

"What?" I gasped, horrified. "You know I can't do that!"

"You can and you _will_. You've got to, Shirley. They can't catch us both!"

I weighed the options. Weylon was right. Again. Two people traveling apart were more difficult to find than two people traveling together. The logic was there, but my heart wasn't.

_I can't let you die too_, I thought. _I'd never forgive myself._

But I said, "All right. Let's go."

"Good. You go that way, I'll go this way. If you run into trouble, holler. I'll find you."

I hated his ideas of chivalry, but it made no sense to fight it. He handed me the bow and arrows, and flashed his knife before my eyes so I knew he wasn't going completely unprotected. It didn't ease my fear any, but I followed his direction and moved off to the right, picking my way over fallen branches and shuffling through the brush.

I settled into routine about an hour later, watching my footsteps and fighting the urge to call for Weylon. I had no idea where I was going, where we would meet up or when.

_You can do this_, I thought, repeating my husband's words in my head. _You can, and you will_.

But no sooner than I gave myself the pep talk, a scream went up from the forest to my left.

"Weylon!"

Without thinking, I started running, leaping over decaying logs and nearly tripping myself several times in the tangle of brambles and vines on the forest floor. I heard my heartbeat pounding in my ears, matching the beat of my stride, as I ran into the clearing. I saw him before he saw me and I skidded to a stop.

My husband lay on the ground, trapped beneath the paws of a massive wolf-like creature. It had a snarling, snaggletooth grin and bright yellow eyes visible against a coat of thick, shaggy, dark grey fur. Its paws were massive, nearly the size of dinner plates, and one quite possibly could have mistaken it for a wolf, had they not known. Though they obviously preferred travel on four legs and were much faster that way, their massive hindquarters betrayed the fact that these beings possessed the ability to stand upright. I imagined their other capabilities were equally or more impressive.

Weylon struggled with the creature on his chest, holding it by its pointed ears and gritting his teeth with the effort of supporting its weight. It snapped at him, eager to sink its teeth into his flesh. He tilted his head back far enough to catch a glimpse of me.

"Shirley! Run!" he screamed. "They've found us!"

_The slave catchers_, I thought, instinctively.

I don't know why I didn't listen. Maybe my conscience made me do it, but I took stance and drew my bow, firing an arrow his direction. It completely missed the creature and struck a nearby tree trunk.

"What are you doing?!" Weylon screamed. "RUN!"

The creature on top of my husband looked up, right in my direction, pausing amidst the glory of having captured his prey. I didn't have to be told twice. I never wanted to see those creatures again, they terrified me so. I turned, and I ran. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and I didn't stop. Not when I heard the gurgling, agonized howl signaling my husband's death, not when I thought I felt the slave catchers breathing down my neck, not even when I felt fatigued. My pace may have slowed, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. I would never be sure if those creatures were still tracking me, and I had to reach Camp Magrad, even if it killed me in the process.

* * *

A torrent of screams near the outskirts of camp interrupted my story to Diaz. A flock of screaming women and children flew by as if running for their lives, and suddenly I knew.

I leapt to my feet and ran toward the fray, drawing my bow before I even had time to think about what I was really doing. They weren't going to ruin this for me. I'd obtained my freedom and there was no way I would go back. Ever.

The wolf-like catchers tore into camp, fangs bared and drool slopping from their jaws. I let the first arrow fly, and to my surprise, it struck true, right in the chest of the first catcher. He stumbled and fell, yelping like an injured dog, but he was up and tearing toward me again in only a matter of moments. I drew another arrow as more people began to flee. I glanced over my shoulder at them, confused and frustrated and angry that no one chose to help, but the gesture was long enough for my guard to drop, and the second catcher pounced, plowing me into the dirt.

I kicked upward with both legs and threw him off but the injured one had caught up and flew at me, jaws snapping. I rolled out of the way and managed to find my bow string again, the arrow still nocked. I drew it and let it fly, striking the injured catcher in the mouth. He dropped, and his brother came at me with new fury. I clambered to my feet, but the beast latched onto my left arm, knocking me back to the ground and forcing me to drop my bow.I beat on its head and kicked at its body, all the while watching blood flow from my veins around his teeth, which sank deeper with my every struggle.

"Shirley, your arrows!" I heard Diaz cry, but it was several seconds later before the realization set in. When it did, though, I wasted no time. I reached above my right shoulder with my uninjured hand, grasped the shaft of an arrow and struck. Again and again. The catcher's blood joined my own, leaking from the puncture wounds I continued to deliver.

Finally, the catcher released his grip on my arm to save his own precious life force, though it was no use. He would die. I gripped my injured arm stood slowly, clumsy and delirious from blood loss.

My chest heaving, I wiped my forehead and slung my bow back over my shoulder. Staring resolutely at the expanse of Gloriano, I knew we would be in for a long, hard fight. More bloodshed than anyone had ever seen before, but it had to be done. Deep down, I knew it. Diaz knew it. The Winglies knew it. We wouldn't be quiet much longer.

The carcasses of the slave catchers at my feet were the first victims in the war to come, and somehow, they were evidence of my future. I could read it in Diaz's eyes the entire time. I didn't need to finish my story ... it wasn't complete yet.


	7. Animos (Courage)

**Chapter Six**

_Animos_

I acted strange around her, unable to express thoughts, tripping over my own feet and stuttering through half-assed hellos. She never gave me the time of day, but it was like I was an awkward teenager all over again, my head in a dizzy stupor every time she came near.

Put plainly, Rose rendered me stupid.

So I settled for admiring her from afar, like an angel on a pedestal. It suddenly didn't matter that Urele was calling for me at all hours of the day and night; I went because there was always a small chance that I might catch a glimpse of Rose down the hall. I wanted to speak to her but didn't have the guts, so I ended up hearing bits and pieces about her from the other slaves in the house.

She was only nineteen and had come to the Thayus household from the Crystal Tower in Mirr on the express direction of Charle Frahma. It made me wonder if she were really a rabble-rouser like me, or if she was just too gorgeous for her own good. Then, recalling Diaz's story, I considered she might have been involved in the same hideous trade, but I shook the thought away, it being too gruesome and cruel to dwell on for long.

It was hard for me to tell time when I was around Rose. Was it merely minutes or hours? Days turned quickly to weeks and weeks into months, and all of it was a blur. Life had gotten pretty boring and redundant for me; there were days that I desperately missed the unknown of the Coliseum, but the ever-present possibility of seeing Rose unexpectedly around a corner or exiting a room made it easier to bear.

The lack of action in my life suddenly changed one night, though, as I was making my way to Urele's bedchamber. She'd called for me before dinner, as usual, and though I no longer needed to prepare myself, I typically headed to her room early to set myself up in some new way. The novelty of it kept me from losing interest in her and therefore out of harm's way, and it kept her entertained, so both of us remained relatively happy.

But this time was different. I heard voices coming from the adjacent hallway, and I paused, stopping before I was seen around the corner.

Peering around the wall, I watched Urele and Thayus arguing; she looked youthful and effervescent, as always, while he only looked exasperated. I thought at first that they might be discussing Urele's sexual disloyalty, but then I heard the name, and knew it was something else entirely.

_Diaz..._

"You haven't heard, Dorian?" Urele snapped in disbelief. "You've got to be joking, because it's all over town."

"Urele, I don't exactly have the time to—"

"Well you should concern yourself with important issues like this! Soa's toes, Dorian! There have been sightings all over the city, and everyone's talking about it. Diaz is back, and something big is going to happen."

"Well I—"

"I want you to be sure we aren't involved in that," she growled. "I'm serious. I won't ever have sex with you again if you don't do what I say."

I could almost hear Dorian roll his eyes. "We don't have sex now, so—"

"Well I'll make sure you won't ever have it again at all! So there! You'd better put precautions into place, or I swear, Dorian Thayus—"

"Okay, okay." He heaved a sigh and I heard him kiss her on the cheek. "I'll come up with something, dear."

Then I heard footsteps, and Dorian stormed around the corner, nearly bumping into me. I tried my best to look like I hadn't just been eavesdropping, but he took one look at me and curled his lip into a disgusted snarl. I hoped it was because he knew I was headed to his wife's bed.

I waited until I heard Urele's door close, and then moved from my spot.

Later that night, over several glasses of wine, Urele spilled the beans to me. I sat there and listened, playing the fool the entire time but not missing a word.

"So Alenia keeps badgering me today about something she saw in town, right? She said she saw two slaves talking in hushed tones and glaring at her like they were going to rape her or something, and then the next I thing I know, I'm hearing all these rumors that Daddy's ex-slave is in town, and he's rounding up all these Humans for a big rebellion."

I just sat there, pretending I couldn't hear a thing. Actually, I figured it was in my best interest to pretend to be asleep, so I closed my eyes and threw a few soft snores in here and there.

"Well what was I supposed to think?" Urele went on. "I didn't know, so I just told her that they were probably rumors, and then I got to thinking myself, and boy, did I really start hearing things then! Everyone was saying that he has a hideout somewhere in Kadessa and that he's gonna get back at Daddy or that he's gonna come and liberate all the slaves. I could've filled a handbag with all the ideas flying around!"

I wanted to tell her that the expression actually involved wishes and shit in the hands, not a handbag, but I kept silent, hoping with all my being that she'd reveal something telling.

"There's all this talk of a slave rebellion now, and I'm scared! Dorian won't do a thing to protect me—" Urele gulped the rest of her wine and poured another glass, draining the bottle. Her aim was hardly accurate now with all the alcohol she'd consumed. "—and then, if that isn't enough, Daddy's all worried that Diaz is setting up some big thingy on the outskirts of Gloriano, where we have no cities. He's a dangerous man, too, from what I hear. All the women in town are scared to death that he's gonna come into their homes and chop up their families. He's planning something, I just know it, and we're all gonna be in trouble!"

_If only_, I thought miserably, but Urele went on.

"I just wish you or Max could protect me. You're both so strong and brave and ... and Human ..."

Finally, she'd realized who she was speaking to and clammed up, but it was far too late. The freedom bug was back in town, and I was bound and determined to get bit.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

Max breezed into the room and threw a dog-eared and crinkled newspaper in front of me. He stepped back then and folded his arms across his chest.

"It looks like a newspaper, why?"

Max rolled his eyes. "Read what I circled, genius."

Confused and frowning, I picked up the paper. It was already open to the classified section, and the dark ink around the ad left no guesswork to finding exactly what Max wanted me to read. The ad read:

_FELDSPAR MANOR—_

_Wingly landowner looking for  
help (servant) to build fire escape.  
Willing to pay for materials.  
Interested? Apply at the corner  
of Liberty & Misery.  
OnLY serious offErs wilL be Accepted._

"So?" I said, tossing the paper back to Max.

"So!" he exclaimed, snatching the paper and jabbing a finger at the ad. "Isn't it obvious that this thing is directed right at you?!"

I shook my head and shrugged, but Max persisted.

"No Wingly wrote this! Misery Lane doesn't even exist! It's _Miser _Lane, and Liberty Street doesn't intersect it."

Suddenly interested, I looked up.

"What? Lemme see that again!"

I grabbed the newspaper back and perused the ad, more slowly this time. Suddenly, I understood Max's suspicions about the ad, but I couldn't allow him to see it, couldn't let him believe it had anything to do with me. My curiosity was piqued, however, and I knew I had to figure out what the ad meant before Max could.

"This is a plot of yours, isn't it?" Max quipped.

"Oh come on," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "It's probably just some old codger playing a prank on everyone. You're reading into this because you want to, not because there's something really there."

I knew I needed to tear the ad out to discover its true meaning, but I had to throw Max off the trail first, so I simply set the paper aside.

"You think this is a _joke_, Zieg?" he said, incredulous. "It says your friggin' _name!"_

"No," I corrected, "it says 'feldspar,' a type of mineral."

Max narrowed his eyes. "You think this is funny, don't you?"

"Actually, yes. I'm interested why you're so bothered by it."

"I'm not bothered!" he shouted. "But damn it, I've got a right to know if you're planning something!"

"Why? Why is that your right?" I fired back. "If you were supposed to know, don't you think I would've told you? Believe me, Max; if this meant anything at all to me, I would've found it first and brought it up with you."

"Well no Wingly would write this, that's for sure!"

"And you know that _how? _Because you used to sleep with one?"

I grinned, knowing Urele's scorn of him made Max furious, and he turned to me, glaring. For a moment I thought he would pounce and clobber me, but he must've thought the better of fighting with a former Guardsman and arena champion, because he just turned and stalked off, leaving me alone with the newspaper. I quickly tore the ad out and shredded the rest, in case he came back for it. I couldn't allow him to know the ad's real intention, even if I hadn't quite figured it out yet. I then made my way to Dorian Thayus' private study.

It wasn't unheard of for Thayus to beat a slave for moving something in his study when he, in fact, had moved it himself and had forgotten about it. Besides, it was risking life and limb for a slave to be caught with educational material anyway, so in normal circumstances, I never would have walked in there. These, however, were not normal circumstances, and I needed some source materials and time alone. With Thayus in meetings all day and Urele doing whatever it was that she did, I had the perfect opportunity.

I began by searching for a map of the city. Thayus was the Head of Parliament; he had to possess a city map somewhere, and sure enough, I found one, rolled up on a paper tube and tucked in a slot on the side of a bookcase. Moving to the huge and elaborate walnut desk in the back of the room, I spread the map out, anchoring its corners with whatever I could find on the desk.

After inspecting the map for only a few minutes, I was disappointed to learn that Max was right. Miser Lane and Liberty Street began at intersections with the same road, then ran immediately parallel for almost two hundred yards before splitting off in opposite directions. The ad was most definitely misleading.

_Well it has to mean something, _I thought, frustrated. _But what?_

So I next turned to the ad. Pulling it from my pocket, I plopped into Thayus' armchair, studying the ad with new determination. I took out a pen and another slip of paper and began jotting down notes to myself regarding possible references and meanings.

_**FELDSPAR MANOR—**_

_What if it _was _a reference to my name? _I marked it down as a possibility and read on.

_**Wingly landowner looking for help (servant) to build a fire escape ...**_

I couldn't come up with anything for that line, so I moved on, hoping something later in the ad would give me a clue.

_**Willing to pay for materials. Apply at the corner of Liberty and Misery ...**_

_Liberty and Misery, _I mused. _Liberty and misery ... _

When the thought came to me, it was so painfully obvious that I laughed out loud. I don't know how I missed it the first time, but there was no way it could be a reference to anything else. The street names indicated that again, Max had been right. The ad was addressed to me from a long-lost friend. A hidden message from Diaz.

Gleeful, I turned back to the ad, now decoding with renewed fervor.

The second line now made sense. It was careful code. Diaz wanted to be certain I got the message and no one else. He knew I was a slave—a servant—but that most can't read. I actually hadn't realized Max could until that moment he'd tossed the paper at me. It was strange that a Wingly looking for slave-based help would place a newspaper ad, so it was no wonder Max had been suspicious.

Furthermore, a Wingly seeking servant help would never offer to pay for materials because he would know slaves couldn't afford them. He would _have _to pay. It was clearly Diaz's way of disguising his ruse in a typical newspaper ad. Fire ... a reference to the fact that I'd once told Diaz my elemental sign. Escape ...

Could he possibly be telling me to escape? Wasn't it too risky?

_No, there has to be something else here_, I thought, still searching. _Perhaps he has another message for me._

'Apply at the corner and Liberty and Misery' meant something beyond a reference to Diaz, and if I hadn't already known better, I would have chosen that as the spot he wanted to meet. I turned to the last line of the ad, now frustrated again and afraid I had already been in the study for too long.

_**OnLY serious offErs wilL be Accepted.**_

_Why are some middle letters capitalized? _I wondered. _Why didn't I notice that before?_

Quickly, I wrote down the capital letters, O-L-Y-E-L-A.

_Olyela? __Is that someone's name? _I frowned at the word, confused. _Wait, _I thought suddenly. _The word at the beginning of every sentence is capitalized, so 'O' doesn't belong ..._

I scratched out the 'O' so the word now read 'Lyela.'

It was certainly a much prettier name, but also no more help. Frustrated again, I pitched my pen across the room. It struck the far bookcase and clattered to the floor. Now I'd have to remember to pick that up when I left ...

Sighing, I decided I wasn't going to get much more done, so I rolled the map back onto the tube and returned it to its spot in the rack. I retrieved the pen, picked up my scratch paper, and stuck the ad back into my pocket. I left the study, making my way down the hall to the men's quarters. Max was lounging on his bed, so I avoided taking the ad or my notes out and instead flopped onto my own bed, considering the word once more.

_Lyela ... Lyela ..._

I eventually fell asleep, but the name had no more significance in my dreams.

* * *

By morning, I still hadn't come up with anything. Desperate to solve the mystery of the ad before it was too late, I decided I would ask the first slave I came across, even if it meant asking Max.

Only, the first slave I happened to bump into wasn't Max. It was Rose.

She hadn't spoken two words to me since she'd kneed me in the groin, and I'd actually been avoiding her somewhat, embarrassed that I'd come off to her like such an asshole. I'm not sure what it was about today that made things change, whether it was my desperation or Fate, but she spoke to me.

"Good morning, Zieg," she said.

"Hello," I mumbled in response, and before she could simply walk by, I reached out and grabbed her wrist as she passed. She instantly whirled toward me, yanking her hand from my grasp.

"What are you doing?!" she snapped, looking about half-ready to slap me again.

Without a word, I gave her the paper on which I'd copied the last line of the ad as it had appeared in the paper, and then written in the bottom margin the capitalized letters: L-Y-E-L-A.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing at it. She appeared to relax, probably when she realized it wasn't a love letter.

I wanted so badly to tell her the entire story and let her in on my connection to Diaz, but I couldn't. It was too early, too risky, too dangerous. I knew someday I would have to talk to her, to convince her to escape this hell, but today wasn't that day. No, not yet.

I hated the way my voice squeaked as I replied, "Can you figure it out?"

Rose frowned for a moment but turned to the slip of paper, staring intently at it and obviously working out the solution in her head. Then, finally, she looked up, a self-satisfactory smile pulling at her lips.

"It's an anagram," she said. "It spells 'alley.'"

She handed the paper back, but I suddenly felt so stupid, I couldn't speak to thank her. I merely snatched the paper back, bowed hastily and ran off the other direction, feeling my face flush hotter with every stride.

I had the solution to the puzzle, though, and with it, a reasonably complete set of directions from Diaz. I would have to meet him in an alley, somewhere between Miser Lane and Liberty Street. Figuring out how to leave the house without suspicion was next, but conveniently, Diaz had already solved that problem for me...

* * *

Some time after breakfast, I strode briskly into Thayus's study, knowing this time I would find him there. He sat behind his desk, poring over stacks of papers likely related in some way to Parliament discussions or law.

"Master," I said, bowing, "can I ask you something?"

Thayus looked up, now appearing more haggard and closer to his fifty-five years than I'd ever seen him. He sighed, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and motioned me forward.

"I never see you, Zieg," he said, kind and pleasant. "What can I help you with?"

I found it strange that he had such a reputation for nastiness, and I began to suspect that his wife had much more to do with that than he let on.

"I have a request, sir—" I replied, holding out the ad I'd torn from the paper. It was a flash quick enough only for Thayus to read the first few lines and prove myself truthful.

"—I'd like to help this man with his fire escape. Things have been boring in my department, as of late—"

Thayus winced then, as if I'd struck him with my sword.

"—and I think this might keep me busy."

Thayus nodded grimly and pulled open a drawer of his desk, removing a tablet. He tore a sheet of paper from it, scribbled something down, and handed it to me.

"It's a pass," he said. "For temporary leave of absence. It basically grants you the ability to hire yourself out, but you continue to belong to me."

He spat the words 'belong to me' like they were poison in his mouth; I wondered if he didn't really believe in the system as strongly as his father-in-law and so many others, but the thought quickly vanished as I looked at the piece of paper in my hands.

"Go on, Zieg," Thayus said, cheerful again. "Help whomever you like and come back, but I don't want you out there too long."

"Thank you, sir," I said, bowing.

I turned and forced myself not to race out the door. And then, with my master's permission, I trotted out of the house, clutching my temporary release papers and suddenly feeling more free than I had all my life.

Once I'd reached my relative destination, I realized how truly ingenious the spot was: Miser Lane and Liberty Street were fairly out-of-the-way, and they split off before a busy plaza, cloaking the nearby neighborhoods in noise pollution and crowds. The short distance the two streets ran next to each other narrowed my search further, now to the alleyways between the two; they were a perfect hiding spot for a clandestine meeting, especially with a person wanted by every law enforcement organization in society.

Three alleyways connected the two thoroughfares, all of them about equidistant from each other, and all of them fairly wide and open. Two of them contained side entrances to the buildings they flanked, frequented by Winglies as they entered and exited, and the third alley was actually more of a street itself.

But there was a fourth alley as well and it was the only one that made sense.

It was tucked between the second and third passageways, and was considerably narrow. I would have missed it, had I not been looking for it. One entered the alley from Miser Lane, but there was no way to pass through to Liberty Street because the building that sat on the lot blocked the passage and cut the alley in two. The metaphorical significance blew my mind. Diaz _had _to be there.

I made my way toward the alley, trying to move quickly but trying equally as hard not to look suspicious. Thankfully, no one noticed me, either because I was just a Human or because my former celebrity status hadn't followed me out of the arena.

"Diaz?"

I walked into the alley, padding forward cautiously. It was dangerous enough for me, as a slave, to be seen in the city alone; I didn't want to risk being seen with a known outlaw, too. Besides, exposing Diaz would likely mean the loss of Humanity's only way out of slavery.

"Diaz?" I repeated.

"Back here," I heard him hiss. "Glad to see you figured it out. I was beginning to get concerned."

I trotted to the back of the alley, where he was nestled between a pair of rusty trash cans and a dumpster that appeared to have been empty for some time now.

"How'd you get in here?!" I cried, not thinking.

"Shh! Get down!"

I ducked out of sight behind the trash cans and leaned close to Diaz.

"How'd you get into the city like that?!" I repeated. "You're in plainclothes!"

Diaz chuckled. "I doubt anyone but you and Frahma truly remembers what I look like anymore."

I shook my head in disbelief, but I knew he was right. Diaz was the only man I knew who would have the audacity to walk into the Wingly capital city as the world's most wanted criminal.

"Besides," he continued, "I'm really more of a legend than a reality these days."

"I know," I said. "They're calling you 'The One Who Got Away.'"

Diaz laughed again and waved the comment away humbly.

"Anyway, we have only a short time," he said, getting back to business. "I must tell you what I need to say quickly—"

I nodded my understanding, not wanting to interrupt him. Diaz peeked above the trash cans to make certain no one was going to overhear. I guessed it was a typical reaction for him now.

"—Okay," he said, turning back to me, "I had to meet with you because we're going to break you out, Zieg."

Though I had been sure of it when I read the 'fire escape' reference in the newspaper ad, hearing those words was like meeting Soa face-to-face.

"Really?" I said, still in shock. "How?"

"I can't disclose that right now, but what I can tell you is that we've set up a series of 'safe houses,' thanks to an unexpected benefactor."

"Safe houses?"

"Yes," Diaz said. It was obvious he was growing impatient. "There have been several Winglies who've stepped forward as allies."

"_Winglies?!" _I hissed, incredulous. "We can't trust them!"

"As far as we know, they oppose slavery and are willing to protect us and support our cause."

I considered it for a moment, but Diaz again turned up correct. We really had no choice. The only way to protect ourselves in such a situation was to have friends in high places, regardless of the fact that we would be exposing ourselves to the potential for betrayal.

"And this benefactor you speak of," I said. "He's a Wingly?"

"Names and genders are undisclosed at this point, but I think it's safe to say that the answer to that question is yes."

I nodded, and Diaz went on, "I'm in the process of building an army to take on the Winglies."

"An army, Diaz?! That'll take thousands of us!"

Diaz shook his head sadly. "Slavery has you blinded, my friend," he said. "Just trust me for the time."

"I want to, but ..."

"I know. But it's a necessity. We must have an army if we expect to win our freedom. There's a war brewing. I'm sure you can feel it."

It was true. I'd known it from the day I'd been put in chains. I swore I'd obtain my freedom again, but I suppose lately I'd been more infatuated with Rose than concerned for my own future. It disappointed me, and I listened to Diaz a little harder.

"I want this army," he said, "and most importantly, Zieg, I want you on the front lines."

"What?"

"Please, we have no time for resistance. Do you desire liberty or do you want to live like a penned animal for the rest of your life?"

I frowned and averted my eyes. He knew the answer and he knew he had me by the balls.

"So can I count on you?" His eyes pleaded with me to accept.

I knew I couldn't say no. I missed the adrenaline rush of battle, and a taste of freedom was too tempting a reward.

"Fine," I said. "What do you need me to do? Be a commander?"

Diaz shook his head, chuckling. "As valuable as I believe you'd be in that position, I need you for something else."

"Like what?"

"I can't explain it now. Not here. It's too risky. But I _will _say that I've had a vision. It will change the course of history if we can make it work. It won't be easy and it won't be fun, but it may just win us a war."

I couldn't begin to comprehend what he meant, so I left it at that, assuming he'd tell me eventually.

"All right. So when do I get rescued?" I asked.

Diaz smiled. "Listen closely, Zieg, because I can only say this once—"

I nodded expectantly. Diaz spoke quickly now, his voice containing an urgency I hadn't heard before.

"—I am going to place another classified ad in the newspaper a week hence, posing as a Wingly female looking for love. It will be written in code, but you will understand when you see it. It will let you know the date and the time when I and my companions will come for you. It will also contain a meeting place, should something go awry. Have the other slaves in the household prepared."

"But what if they refuse to come?"

Diaz laughed. "They would deny themselves the right to freedom?" he asked. He made it sound more ridiculous than I knew it to be.

I just shrugged. "Just a thought."

"I know several of the slaves in the Thayus household personally. Anais and Jessup are relatives of mine. Gerard would have been my son-in-law had things worked out. They will come."

"And the others?"

"I'm sure you'll be able to convince them."

I sighed, not really sure what I was getting myself into, but Diaz stood, signaling that our meeting was over. He took my hand and smiled at me in a fatherly sort of way.

"Good luck, Zieg. May the Divine Tree's favor be upon you."

And before I could say anything else, he walked off, his back straight and his stride confident, disappearing into the crowd in the street beyond.

* * *

The next few days, I agonized over Diaz's message.

What could he possibly want me for, outside of being a soldier? How was I going to convince all nine Thayus slaves to leave a life of relative comfort for a life filled with the unknown? I figured I couldn't spend the rest of my life debating it, though. I had only a week to persuade everyone to stand up to their oppressors, and I knew it would be no easy task.

As Diaz said, Anais was quite agreeable to the notion, as was her husband, Jessup, who had been transferred to Thayus' care from Frahma's before my arrival. The maid, Liza, was apprehensive at first, but she appeared much more at ease when I explained that the rest of us would be going with her. Abraham, Thayus's personal assistant, took quite a bit of convincing before he relented, apparently satisfied with his cushy life as a slave, but Chomm, the obese and genial cook, possessed no qualms about leaving. He even joked that he might lose some weight if not in the kitchen all day.

Gerard, the Thayus butler, proved much more difficult to convince, however.

"Hey, Gerard," I said, entering the dining room, finding the butler seated at the table having a cup of tea.

He looked up, rolling his eyes when he saw me.

"What do you want?" he snapped, setting his teacup in its saucer.

"Just to talk, really." I approached the table and leaned one elbow on the back of a chair, resting my other hand on my hip.

"Ever thought of freedom?" I asked.

Gerard shook his head vigorously. "Oh no," he said quickly. "Oh no, I'm not going to listen. I'm not one of your little rebel friends, and you're not going to convert me."

He went to stand up, but I shoved him back down.

"That's not what this is about."

"Oh? Then what?" he snapped. "I was under the impression that any mention of freedom by Humans is cause enough for punishment."

"Just listen. I have an opportunity to get us out of here."

"Isn't that how you landed yourself in the Coliseum?"

"No!" I shook my head, fighting the irritation rising in my chest. "No. I'm only asking you this because I don't want to see you punished if you remain behind."

"You think they'd punish _me _if you ran?"

"They might if you're the only one left," I said, suppressing a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Gerard suddenly seemed interested.

"I _mean_, we're all leaving. _All _of us."

"Not Liza," he said, as if he were asking a question.

"Yes, Liza."

"Then certainly not Abraham."

"Abraham too."

"And Anais?"

"Yup."

Gerard cursed under his breath and hung his head. "I should've known," he said. "She's that damned Diaz's sister."

"It wasn't his fault you know."

Gerard jerked his head up at me, eyes full of hatred. "How would you know?"

I shrugged ambiguously. "I just do. And I understand your bitterness too. Believe me."

"I'm not bitter," he snapped.

"Come on, you know it! Frahma killed Beatta when Diaz refused to. Common knowledge."

"But he killed them because Diaz tried to _escape_."

"Which is exactly why you should!" I said. "Look at you, Gerard. They've brainwashed you!"

"They have not!"

"Then prove it," I demanded, leaning toward him. "Run with us."

Gerard looked away, like he was actually considering it. I felt giddy.

"And how will you go?" he asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

"That I don't know yet. I've got to trust my sources."

"And who is that?" he fired back. "Diaz?"

I shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe. Are you willing to trust him too, if it means your freedom?"

Gerard paused, then slowly shook his head. My heart fell.

"I can't," he said. "He ruined my life."

"And he could grant you a new one, if you'd only follow us."

Again, Gerard shook his head.

"No. I refuse."

Frustrated, I decided that maybe playing a little reverse psychology would start moving things in my favor.

"Suit yourself," I said, sighing. "But if you change your mind, I'll just tell you this: it's gonna happen. We'll be gone, and you'll be stuck here. Alone."

"And when is 'soon'?" Gerard scoffed, clearly bothered by the 'alone' comment.

"Less than a week."

He shook his head, the pompous air about him returning. "Impossible," he said. "Even if I _wanted _to escape, I can't. I must begin the preparations for His Excellency's birthday celebration."

I slapped the table in disbelief, now thoroughly irritated.

"What preparations could you possibly have to make?" I cried. "We're not going!"

"_You're_ not going," he corrected. "Mistress will surely require my expertise with serving."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, I'm a little tired of your pretentiousness. It's a shame that someone so sure of himself can't be of more use than a butler."

Gerard's eyes flashed at the insult, and he said, "I'm _sorry_, I didn't realize I was now taking orders from Mistress's _fuck buddy_."

My blood boiled and I resisted the urge to shove my fist so far into Gerard's face that his teeth would fall out his ass.

"It's _personal pleasure assistant_," I grumbled, enunciating every syllable.

"That title is ridiculous, and so is the notion of Human freedom. Your idea is reckless and unfounded, Zieg. I have no intentions of leaving. But perhaps _you _should?"

"You know what, Gerard?" I said, "I _will _leave, but you'd better keep your mouth shut about this if you're not coming."

"Don't worry, Zieg," Gerard retorted. "I won't say a word. Just know that you and your little cronies will be caught. You _will_. And it won't be on my conscience."

I clenched my fists and turned on my heel, not exactly willing to pick a fight with another slave over issues as sensitive as freedom and escape. But before I left, an idea struck me.

"You'd better be damned sure that servitude is what you want for the rest of your life," I said, turning around in the doorway. "I won't come back for you. Diaz might, but I won't. And maybe you'll end up the fuck buddy."

"So be it," Gerard said, chin held high.

He was resolute. I'd tried and failed, so I left. But even without Gerard's consent, two other slaves still stood in the way to the complete freedom of all those in the Thayus household.

Max ... and Rose.

* * *

"You're crazy, Zieg," Max said, in disbelief. He shook his head like a mother shakes her head at a misbehaving child.

I'd brought up the idea of escaping with him, and since then it'd been nothing but a big, fat lecture about how he'd known my plan all along and that I shouldn't have attempted to keep the newspaper a secret. Meanwhile, I'd said nothing of the newspaper, and spent the rest of the time trying to convince him that it wasn't a plot of mine, and that it wasn't as insane as it sounded. None of it was working.

"I'm not crazy," I insisted. But something about the way Max spoke to me made me hang my head in disappointed shame. In all likelihood, it had something to do with his propensity for starting drama in the house.

"I'm hurt, Zieg," Max said, sounding very much like a bad actor in the lead part of a well-known play. "I am offended that you would keep something away from me that's also so clearly meaningful to you."

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You're actually angrier that I didn't tell you ahead of time than you are at the notion of escape?"

"Of course!" Max snapped. "I thought we were buddies, Zieg. You were supposed to tell me everything."

I wasn't sure I considered someone a 'buddy' if I'd only known them for three months, but at this point, I was willing to do anything to get the other slaves to go along with me. If Max thought of me as his buddy, well then ... I was his best one.

"Well, jeez, Max," I said. "I wasn't aware of that, or I woulda told you about it. But that's why I want you to come with me! I can't leave without my friends!"

My ego-stroking seemed to appease him. He sat on the bed next to me and slung an arm around my shoulders.

"You know, I didn't really like you when you first came here. I mean, we _are_ opponents after all—" He jerked his thumb in the direction of Urele's room. "—but I think we've grown pretty close over the past few months, don't you?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and nodded instead. "Of course."

"Well, then ... you'll trust me when I say this." He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "I don't think you should risk escaping."

I frowned. "Why not? This isn't exactly heaven, you know," I snapped, motioning with my arm at the room around us.

"Yeah, but freedom's not all it's cracked up to be. You're too used to being a slave, like me. Like Rose. Like all of them. It's a comfort thing. We'd never last in the wild."

I shook my head, half-irritated, half-confused. Was he using reverse psychology on me? If he was, he was doing a terrible job.

"It's for your own safety, Zieg," he went on. "I wouldn't wanna see my _best buddy_—" He gripped my shoulder and jostled me about for good measure. "—get hurt, would I?"

"I guess not."

"Good. Well then you won't run, right?"

I sighed heavily. "Max, you know I can't do that. I've been free before. I've had more than a taste of it, and I want it back. I'd rather go back to the Coliseum sometimes than be trapped in here all day long with nothing to do but stare at the walls and look forward to the smell of Urele's bed sheets."

Max shrugged like that didn't bother him, but there was no way I would stand for it.

"I can't," I went on. "I'm going to escape when they come, with or without you, friends or not. I can promise you that."

"I guess suit yourself, buddy," Max said, patting my shoulder. He stood and turned to face me. "I'm just saying, that if I were in your shoes, I'd take my advice."

And with that, he left the room, sauntering away to do god-knows-what.

I was left with more than a sinking feeling in my stomach. I felt like I'd just been swindled, manipulated. Something about my conversation with Max wasn't right, and I just couldn't put my finger on it.

* * *

Not discouraged by my apparent lack of success in convincing my associates that freedom was worth escape, I gathered my courage to finally speak to Rose. I knew the day would come; I just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

It was the day before Frahma's birthday party in the palace, and it seemed everyone was making preparations for the big day. I could've cared less, but the slaves weren't exactly allowed to forget about the celebration, even if we weren't invited. Rose was in the eldest child's room, putting the finishing touches on the little princess's dress for the party, a huge, poufy number full of frills and sparkles. I was on my way outside to stake the place out and potentially discover a way to help our rescuers in whatever way possible. It was on a whim that I'd ducked my head in the doorway.

"Hey," I said, quietly.

She looked up but didn't smile. I fought my nerves, forcing myself to remain calm, but my usual confidence was apparently out of the question.

"C,can we talk?" I asked.

She nodded and sat the dress aside, uncrossed her legs and stood.

"Let's go outside," she said, motioning toward the door. "I've been cooped up all day and I need some fresh air."

I followed her downstairs and out the front door, where we strolled the front grounds, side-by-side. I hoped desperately that she couldn't hear my heart racing.

"Hey, listen," I said, finally finding the courage to speak again. "I, uh ... I'm really sorry about the way I treated you a few weeks ago."

Rose smiled but said nothing, and she continued to stare at the ground as we walked.

"I mean, I didn't ... at least, I hope you didn't think I was, uh ..."

"It's fine," Rose said, saving me from my pathetic stuttering.

"Ah, okay. Good. That's good." I stole a glance at her. Her smile had spread, and it gave me new confidence to go on.

"Anyway," I said, "I meant to introduce myself properly, I guess. I'm Zieg."

"I know."

"And you're ... uh ... you're Rose, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Uh, yeah ... okay." I mentally kicked myself in the balls. I didn't blame Rose for doing it before. I was more than annoying, and I had no idea how to recover.

"So," I went on. "You're ... you're the nanny, then."

"Yes."

I laughed, my nervousness painfully obvious.

"Do you only speak in one-word answers?" I asked, not intending it to sound as rude as it probably did.

Rose looked up. "It depends," she said. "Do you always ask such mundane questions?"

I laughed again and it didn't sound so nervous this time, though I wasn't entirely sure she had been kidding with me. I chose to ignore her question and went on.

"I don't like what I do," I said, "but I think you knew that. I mean, I guess none of us really does, right?"

Rose just shrugged. I was frustrated that the conversation was so one-sided.

"So where'd you grow up?" I asked.

_There, _I thought firmly. _Try to evade that question with a one-word response!_

"Gloriano," she said.

_Damn ..._

"I was free once," I continued, hoping she'd expand her answer. "Grew up near Mirr. My parents and siblings were killed. Murdered by the Winglies in a fire. They burned the whole damned block down for land development. I lost my entire family."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"What about you?" I pressed, glancing sidelong at her.

She shook her head, closing her eyes as if remembering the pain. Uncomfortable silence settled between us and I suddenly wished I'd never asked her anything.

"We don't have to discuss this—"

"What's this about, Zieg?" she said finally, turning to me abruptly. "I've got things to finish before Frahma's party."

We came to a stop then, and I sat beneath the huge, shady tree near the front yard's west end. I patted the ground next to me as I looked up at Rose. She rolled her eyes and sat.

"I guess what I really wanted to talk to you about was this," I said, boldly looking into her eyes. They were a lovely shade of lavender. "I'm sure you're no stranger to my past. I was imprisoned for helping a slave named Diaz escape from Melbu Frahma's house. He's now the most wanted criminal alive, and I've been communicating with him."

If Rose had any apprehension or reaction regarding my statement, it didn't show in her face. She merely appeared to be waiting, ready for me to continue.

"Anyway he's managed to supply me with the information that he and a group of raiders will be entering Kadessa, with the intention of breaking us out."

"Us?" Rose asked, looking amused.

"I, I mean ... I guess I wasn't ... I meant, I—"

For the first time ever, I heard Rose giggle. It was like music.

"Go on," she prodded.

I shook the fog away and said, "Diaz told me to plead with the other slaves in the house ahead of time. So that's what I meant to ask you. By 'us,' I meant all of us. You, me, Anais, Jessup, Abe ... all of us."

Rose fell immediately silent, dropping her gaze to her shoes. She plucked a blade of grass and inspected it, then let it fly away in the wind. But not once did she look at me.

"You _have _to come," I said. "I don't want anyone left behind."

Rose's face twitched, like she couldn't decide whether to frown or smile and she looked away, pressing her lips together tightly. Silence fell again. A bird sang from somewhere above, in the tree.

"I'm not leaving without you, Rose," I said suddenly, surprising even myself. "I can't."

She looked at me, obviously startled, but something about her expression told me she was curious, rather than annoyed.

"Why not?" she asked.

I shrugged and turned my gaze to the ground. I couldn't possibly tell her I'd fallen hopelessly head-over-heels in love with her. It was impossible for the feeling to be mutual, and I didn't expect it to be. There was just something about her I felt the need to protect. She seemed fragile, somehow. Bruised. Hurt. I wondered at it, but couldn't make myself admit the real truth.

"I dunno," I said lamely. "I just ... can't. I know, it's stupid."

Rose didn't say anything, just shook her head, and I nearly dropped dead when she placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"I'm touched that you asked me, Zieg."

I looked up at her, confused now. She only smiled, almost condescendingly, and said, "I'll think about it."

She then stood, brushed her bottom off and made her way down the hill, away from the house, her steps dainty and sure. I watched her go, my heart and hope sinking a little more with every stride she took.


	8. Haesitatio (Hesitation)

_Hey, another chapter! Yay! I've been on a roll the past few weeks ... anyway, again please excuse the artistic liberties I've taken here. The first and last sections are in third person while the middle is in first. For the sake of the story, just bear with me; I promise it gets better! But before I encourage you to read on, I must admit that I'm not sure what the deal is with Rose's personality in this chapter. For those of you who are actually reading this, reviews would be greatly appreciated at this point (but by no means required) ... Thanks, and enjoy!_

* * *

"Good morning, Your Excellency."

The fresh-faced assistant stood in the doorway, ready with the dictator's morning ritual. Frahma went through the motions on auto-pilot, sticking his arms into his bathrobe, slipping his feet into the house shoes and accepting the proferred cup of coffee.

His assistant flitted about, jabbering on while completing his duties.

"And how did you sleep, Excellency?"

"Well," Frahma replied. "How are the preparations coming for this evening?"

"Spectacular, Your Authority!" the slave chimed, nearly toppling a potted plant as he spun around, carrying the coffepot and a stack of mail. "I think you'll really be surprised!"

"And the security measures?"

"Already taken care of!"

Frahma nodded his approval, fighting the biting remark resting at his lips.

The assistant handed over the newspaper and mail, then left to check on breakfast. Frahma headed onto the terrace outside his bedchamber, where he'd grown accustomed to taking his morning meal. He relished the fresh air for a moment, then sat cross-legged at the elegant wrought-iron table to enjoy his coffee and reading material.

He glanced over the newspaper, and finding nothing of interest, turned to his mail. An odd, weather-beaten envelope caught his eye; he broke the seal and began to read.

_To the attention of His Royal Authority, Melbu Frahma:_

_Good day, Your Excellency._

_Though I'm sure you've already noticed the recent developments in Human perception of your rule, I find it wholly necessary to inform you of the current state of affairs._

_With Humans escaping by the hundreds, and the resistance growing tenfold, it should be painfully obvious that your reign has brought only sadness and despair upon the People. You have caused nothing but widespread pain and torment, Wingly supremacy being a far-flung plague, an ugly scar upon the earth. Though their escape shall only breed more sorrow, they have sanctuary here. Your careless release of me has forged a means of renewal for Humankind, blazing a road to freedom for all those oppressed. For that I thank you. _

_However I must confess this letter serves a much higher purpose: to warn you-no longer shall Humans be your puppets, forever fated to dance at your whim like gruesome marionettes. No longer shall we be forced into submission, torn down until we break beneath the pressure of your hand. No more shall we suffer in silence. I say now, Melbu Frahma, war is coming to your world. A war so brutal and deadly, even you may not survive._

_I sincerely hope this letter finds you well. May you enjoy the current peace in your life, for it won't be long until we shatter it._

_Signed,_

_E. Diaz_

_Diaz_, he fumed silently, crumpling the parchment in his fist. _War ... we shall see__._

He flung the paper at the trash receptacle. It bounced, rolled around the rim and fell in.

* * *

I found myself distracted during practice.

With every jab, slash and counter, Zieg's words buzzed around my head, torturing my brain and throwing me off.

"Hah!"

"Tah! He-yuh!"

My last (and only) attempt at freedom had landed me in the hospital in Mirr. I desperately desired to throw off my chains, to run away from this hell and never look back. I needed to become something other-something greater-than the pathetic creature I knew I was. But I was afraid it wasn't possible. I wasn't strong enough to endure the hardships awaiting those who escaped.

"Oh! Tah!"

"Rah! Hah!"

But again, Zieg's words ... No, not just his words. The way he'd looked at me when he said them, the look of a madman, desperate with longing, with _need_. But somehow, he wasn't nearly as foolhardy as he seemed. Those eyes like blue steel burned with fervor, a hunger for a world that didn't exist, but a passion to make that world come to fruition. He truly believed he needed my help, and I couldn't figure out why.

"Yah-ah! Touche!"

"Damn it!"

I flung my rapier away, tore my mask off and collasped to the ground, hands pressed to my eyes like they would somehow stop the anguish. I felt the urge to cry, but what good would come of spilling tears over freedom? They wouldn't make me free, so I just sighed instead and sank back against the brick wall enclosing the space. The coolness of the masonry refreshed me and I regained a shred of composure.

Toan dropped his rapier, though, and ran to me, probably afraid I'd been hurt. He looked relieved when he found me healthy.

"Are you all right?" he asked slowly, as though he might be afraid of the answer.

I considered telling him my dilemma, but quickly decided against it. Though Toan was one of the kindest, most genuine men I'd ever known, at his core he was still a Wingly-the enemy. He couldn't be trusted.

"Yeah," I said, my voice catching in my throat. "Yeah, I'm ... fine."

Toan didn't reply right away; he just moved closer and removed his own gear: first his mask, then his gloves.

"Rose, you've been training with me for three years, and you're good," he said. He sat down next to me, pulling one knee up and leaning back. "_Really_ good. Good enough to fight professionally."

I laughed. It sounded hollow. "Are you implying I should be a Coliseum warrior?"

"No! No, I meant you should quit your nanny position. You should come work with me."

His statement, so honest and enduring and forthright, sent me whirling from the balmy summer evening into the coldest depths of Kashua. Though I'd always been upfront about my station in life, never before had its reality struck me so deeply. In that little garden, tucked carefully away from wandering eyes, I was a free woman and slavery didn't exist at all; then I'd re-enter the monotony and go on with my life.

Tonight, though, Toan had blended my two worlds so irrevocably I'd never again seperate them. I wasn't sure I could forgive him for it.

"I can't exactly quit, Toan," I said, fighting the bitterness dripping from the words. "Urele _owns _me."

He looked at me strangely, like he had forgotten I was a slave.

"Shoot," he said, quietly, turning away. "That's right." I swear I heard disappointment in his voice.

He slipped an arm around my shoulders and we sat there like that, nothing between us but silence. The sun was sinking slowly beyond the hills, spraying a haze of purple and orange across the sky. Again I was struck with the truth of my existence; only after dark, in hidden gardens and secret meetings, could I be free. Somewhere in the distance an owl began to hoot, searching for its mate or its dinner.

"I don't care that you're a Human, you know," Toan said finally.

"You can be killed for that."

"That doesn't matter to me." He grasped my chin and turned my head so I could look at him. "I care about you, Rose."

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. I felt the urge to close my eyes against his amber gaze. It was like he could stare right into my soul, and I was uncomfortable.

"I was taught not to trust your people," I said. "How will I be sure I can trust you?"

"Let me show you." And Toan pressed his lips to mine.

I let him kiss me, if only because I was too shocked to protest. When he pulled away, it was several seconds before I could react.

"What was that?" I asked, turning to face him.

He blushed and shook his head, but he looked clearly dejected. "Nothing," he said. "Just ... nothing. Forget it."

I nodded slowly, but then it made me wonder ...

"Toan, I've been thinking," I said.

"'Bout what?" He wasn't looking at me. He traced patterns in the dirt with a finger.

"I ... About freedom. I've been considering escape."

"What?"

His head shot up and he turned to me. The pink flush to his cheeks had vanished.

"You can't!" he cried. "You can't escape! It's illegal!"

""But I can't keep on like this. Like I'm nothing ..."

"But you're _not _nothing, Rose," he protested. "You're an amazing fighter, and you've got a warrior's heart. You can't just give all that up by-"

"I wouldn't be. I'd be giving up my chains, my life as a slave."

"What if the authorities link you back to me? There's no mistaking your technique."

I felt fire rise in my chest at Toan's selfishness. Only a Wingly could worry about his own skin in someone else's nightmare. It made me suddenly bitter again.

"You don't know what it's like," I said, my voice low, the choking, hot sting of tears ripping my words apart. "You'll never know. I can't do it anymore. I need to leave."

"I can't let you do that ..."

"I'm not asking for your permission, Toan."

"You'd be leaving _me_." He hung his head, rejected. Disappointed. Like a child who'd lost his favorite toy.

I didn't have anything more to say to him. He'd ruined the conversation with his bigotry. I should have known better than to trust a Wingly with such a secret, let alone all the other ones I'd told him over the years. I was suddenly afraid he'd reveal my intentions.

_No_, my instincts told me. _Toan may be a bigot, but he'd never blow the whistle on a scheme he knew could cost me my life._

I avoided his eyes but felt his hot gaze on me like the noonday sun, burning with frustration and pain.

"Just please," he said, his voice full of emotion. "Please ... stay."

I just sat there for a moment, then shook my head slowly. I knew what it must have felt like for Toan to get his answer. Like the world had been pulled out from under his feet ...

"Fine, Rose," he snapped, obviously hurt. "Have it your way."

He pushed angrily away from the wall and stood, not offering me a hand to help me to my feet. He just walked to his bag, removed his gear, and packed up without another word. I stood then, watching him, sure he had just embarrassed himself as much as he had confused and surprised me. And he left the practice area without so much as a wave or a backward glance.

Suddenly saddened and worried I'd lost my only friend in the world, I turned and made my way back to the house, unsure if I'd ever see Toan again, let alone practice with him. But even if his actions had confused me, they made me certain of one thing.

I needed to speak with Zieg again.

* * *

I hadn't the time to waste it thinking. Frahma's party started in less than two hours. I had to put the pieces of myself together before then.

So I went looking for Zieg.

Not finding him in the men's quarters or in the backyard where I knew he often pretended to swordfight using tree limbs, I knew there was only one place left he could be. It made perfect sense. With her father's party likely to last well into the night, Urele wouldn't be able to revel in her normal nightly routine. She would need to call on Zieg early.

After developing a half-assed but surefire plan, I made my way to Urele's room, where I pounded on her chamber door, trying to appear as frantic as possible. Moments later, Urele wrenched open the door, wrapped in a sheet. Somehow she managed to look elegant in it, like a flowing pink toga, but the look of disgust on her face ruined the whole image.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

I saw Zieg over her shoulder; he clambered about in the bed, as if he couldn't decide whether to hide himself entirely or just his genitals. I paused for a second then, gathering my bearings. This would only work if done right. I sighed and spoke.

"It's Master Thayus, Mistress," I said, hoping I sounded nothing but deeply concerned. "He requires your urgent attention. Something about the children."

Urele grunted in disgust, shot a look over her shoulder at Zieg, then grumbled something under her breath about Dorian always needing her most when she was 'busy.'

"Where is he?" she asked.

"I'm not certain," I replied carefully. "I received the news from a messenger. Perhaps he's at work today?"

Urele grumbled again as if she were thinking aloud, then hugged the sheet a little closer.

"Out of the way, Rose!" she snapped, shoving past me.

She stormed down the hall, the sheet billowing behind her and flying open just enough to reveal her bare buttocks. I wondered if she had every intention of walking into his public office wearing nothing but a bed sheet, then remembered I had more important matters at hand and turned back to Zieg.

He sat upright in the bed now, bare-chested with a blanket tucked closely around his waist and looking quite guilty. I couldn't understand why he felt remorseful, unless it was because he actually enjoyed what he'd been doing. I, however, fought to make my brain work properly; it seemed to struggle with the fact that Zieg was naked beneath those sheets.

_What a trivial notion_, I thought, mentally chastising myself, but my mind resisted. I clearly noticed Zieg no longer sported the lustful expression he'd worn in previous encounters with me. An unfamiliar emotion bubbled up. Was I ... _jealous _...?

I blurted my question before I had a chance to collect my thoughts.

"Why do you want to escape?"

Zieg looked at me incredulously. "I ... is ... is th-that ..." He cleared his throat, clearly fighting nervousness and embarrassment. "Is that a serious question?" His voice squeaked like a pubescent boy's.

I nodded, forcing myself to look at him and not avert my eyes, as I wanted so badly to do.

"_Because_," Zieg replied, shortly. "You do realize that Urele will probably whip us both when she discovers your lie, don't you? Thayus isn't at work today. Frahma declared it a ... a national holiday."

"I want a real answer," I said, ignoring his pronouncement. "Now give me one."

"I was born free, as all Humans should be."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because it's how Soa intended it!" he cried, growing visibly frustrated. "Didn't we talk about this already? Besides, you'd better get out of here before Urele gets back!"

"Why?" I snapped. "Afraid your of your Wingly girlfriend?"

He narrowed his eyes and I saw him fighting to hold his anger in check. It amused me and I just shook my head, refusing to leave until I had answers to my questions.

"I just want to know what's so great about freedom that you'd leave a life like this. We don't exactly have it rough, Zieg."

"You've _got _to be kidding-"

_So maybe he doesn't enjoy it ..._

"-you think I want to continue to subject myself to this humiliation on a daily basis?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, knowing it was probably a rhetorical question.

"Well I don't. I would give anything to be anywhere else right now. I have to get out." I saw him dart a glance at the clock.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"Tonight."

"How do you know?"

Zieg reached down, off the side of the bed. The covers shifted and I quickly looked at the floor, not wanting to see something I wasn't intending to.

"Here," he said. I looked up to see him holding a small piece of paper. I moved forward to take it and immediately discovered it was a newspaper ad. It read:

_DEAREST Z-:_

_In response to your last note, I  
admire your zeal. We must meet.  
Come celebrate His Excellency's birthday with me!  
You'll find me in the city park, nearest the patrol station.  
I'll be wearing white. Hope to see you soon!  
Love, D-_

The more I looked at the ad, the more I came to understand how Zieg had been communicating with the man. I was silent for a time, trying to decipher the ad's hidden message. I could almost hear the seconds tick by as I wasted more time.

_It's easier just to ask him_, I thought and looked up.

"Have you figured this out?" I asked.

"Some," he replied. "Diaz told me the ad would contain a reference to a meeting spot. I'm assuming that's what the city park means, but it's nowhere near the patrol station."

"And Diaz must be wearing white, right?"

Zieg shrugged. "I guess. Then what does the patrol station reference mean?"

My brain suddenly fired, and I smiled.

"The authorities' uniforms are white," I said. "They must be coming dressed as a patrol guards."

"Great!" Zieg exclaimed, but his expression was far from eccstatic. "Now that you've figured that out, you need to leave," he said.

I ignored him, knowing we had more time; there were questions yet to be answered.

"What are you going to do when you get out?" I asked.

And there it was, the philosophical question of the century. Zieg looked at me like I suddenly possessed three heads. I only raised my eyebrows, prompting him.

"I ... I'm ... not sure," he said quietly. "But really, you should leave now. I don't want Urele to come back and punish us for talking."

"I'm not done," I said, perhaps a little too coldly. Zieg rolled his eyes. "How can you risk escaping when you have no idea what you're going to do once you're free?"

The notion of leaving without a goal in mind other than simple freedom was foreign to me. I'd had a plan the last time I left; it hadn't worked out, but I'd had one. Perhaps that was where I went wrong.

"I think you're missing the point," Zieg said. "It's about the freedom itself. It's always been about the freedom. I don't care if I end up eating shit, as long as I'm free to do it."

I fought the urge to laugh, as he was painfully serious.

"So it doesn't matter?" I tried to wrap my mind around the idea, but it only sent me spinning into oblivion.

"No, not at all."

"And you have no idea what's going to happen to you once you get out there? I mean ... _if_ you get out."

He didn't counter my doubt. Instead, he was just honest. "If I did, Rose," he said, "I don't think I'd be here. I'd be one of those fortune-tellers out in the marketplace."

"But-"

"Soa's _balls_, please ..."

Zieg rolled his eyes again, then turned them to the clock. I watched him visibly wince as he saw how much time had already passed.

"Come on, Rose." He practically begged me now. "Please leave."

He was right. I had pressed my luck far enough.

"But what about you?" I asked.

"I'll take your punishment too. Just go."

I turned, but suddenly I couldn't make myself move forward. It was like my brain had stopped working again, as if it were holding my body hostage to entertain its own whims. It wasn't like me to consider another slave's plight, but there was something about Zieg... I shook my head and turned back around.

"I won't," I said. "Not unless you come too."

Zieg grinned and practically leapt out of the bed. I hid my eyes while he hastily yanked his pants on, and we were out the door as Urele rounded the corner, still clutching the sheet around her naked body.

"Hey!" she screamed as Zieg and I tore down the hall.

She attempted to run after us but luckily tripped on her makeshift garment. I knew she'd continue her pursuit once she'd dressed, so we didn't stop until we reached the back patio door. Looking for a place to hide, I grabbed Zieg's arm and jerked him into the generator room.

It was a tight, cramped space where the generator poured forth the magic to operate the gadgets in the Thayus house. Zieg and I barely fit, my back against the wall and our bodies pressed together. Almost instantly I felt perspiration on my brow. The musky scent of Zieg's sweat lingered in the air but the pungent odor of sex was thankfully absent. I fought the urge to ask him about it.

The top of his head nearly brushed the ceiling, but he stood erect, grinning down at me like some creepy stalker. I frowned and shoved him a little, but he only bounced off the generator and smacked back into me. I glared at him. He shrugged sheepishly.

It wasn't long before footsteps thudded down the hallway outside the door and vaguely, I heard Urele screaming at someone.

"I can't believe it! I can't!" Urele cried. "I should've known better than to buy that stupid monkey!"

Zieg jumped, clenching his fists. A muscle in his neck twitched.

"They _tricked _me! Those ignoramuses tricked _me_," the Wingly empress wailed on. "Her, of all the slave bitches! Of _all _of them! She led him away and now they're probably off fucking together somewhere!"

Zieg made a move toward the door, but I laid a hand on his chest to stop him. His heart was racing. I pressed a finger to my lips, urging him to stay silent and invisible.

"I know, dearest, I know-" Dorian's tired voice now. "-calm down. We'll find them, and when we do, they'll get their just punishment. Really, we should be getting ready for your father's celebration right now, not worrying over a couple of slaves."

Urele continued to carry on, with Thayus incessantly trying in vain to calm her. Their voices grew quieter until they faded altogether. I assumed they'd gone into another part of the house, probably to get ready for the party. Zieg made a move toward the door, but I grabbed his arm.

"It isn't safe yet," I said. "We should wait until they leave."

He paused for a moment, then relaxed and nodded his agreement. He knew it was foolhardy to do anything right away. So there we remained, cramped and sweating in the sweltering heat of the generator room, until I heard the faint buzz of the teleporter. The silence that followed afterward indicated the absence of the Thayus family.

Cautiously, Zieg and I stepped from the room, relishing the fresh air and open space. Zieg stretched his shoulders as I peeked around the corner. The house was empty. We'd gotten lucky.

"We'd better round up the others," he said. "It's almost time."

"You mean _you_," I corrected, turning around. "I'm not coming."

"You're kidding, right?" Zieg said flatly. "After all that, and you're not gonna come?"

I understood Zieg's frustration. I'd felt it only hours earlier, speaking with Toan. I like to think reason and practicality tore at my emotion, but I knew the real reason for my hesitation: fear. I dreaded the unknown, and freedom was the biggest uncertainty I could ever face. Beyond my own fear, though, was another concern. Tonight just wasn't the right time. If I left tonight, I might never see the children again.

I looked away. "I can't," I said.

"Why not? Why did you just ask me all those questions and _then _decide?"

"I just had to know. I didn't want to expose you unnecessarily..."

"You already have!"

"But the children ..."

"Let Urele learn how to be a mother, for Soa's sake!" Zieg reached forward and grasped both my shoulders, leaning down to meet me face-to-face. Then, he lowered his voice.

"I said it before and I'll say it again. I'm not leaving without you, Rose."

He looked me straight in the eyes, only it wasn't as unnerving as it had been with Toan. Somehow, Zieg's gaze calmed me, reassured me that everything would be okay if I would only trust him ...

"Round up the others," I said. "I'll think about it."

* * *

With only minutes to go before his grand entrance, His Royal Authority Melbu Frahma sat at the carved rosewood desk in his office, elbows propped on its surface, fingertips touching in a teepee. A man stood before him, one tall and muscly in build, Human in breed. According to the gate guard, he'd come with valuable intel, news of dire importance to the Wingly emperor.

"What information could you possibly have that requires such immediate attention?" Frahma asked, his voice icy with indifference. "They're holding my birthday party in the ballroom, and I must be there in ten minutes."

The man bowed. "Your Excellency, I bring you news of a potential escape orchestrated by your former slave, Diaz."

"Is that so? Interesting ..."

"Yes, Your Authority. But the most fascinating part of it is the participants. Nearly all of them plan to run tonight, during the celebration of your birthday ..."

"Go on," Frahma purred.

"... from your daughter's household."

_Feld_ ..., Frahma thought immediately, but he was careful not to betray his emotions. His lips curved upward in a wicked smirk.

"Indeed," he said, leaning forward again. "I desire your assistance, then."

"Anything."

"Make certain they fail in their endeavor," Frahma said coolly. "Don't allow them out alive. Lock the doors, set traps-kill them all, if you must, but _don't _allow them to get away."

"Yes, Your Excellency," the man said. He bowed deeply, then turned and left, headed in the direction of the Thayus residence.

Through the huge picture window in his office, Frahma watched the man trot away, then stood and moved to the looking glass, where he straightened his robes and inspected his appearance.

_I promised I would get you_, he thought. _And this time you won't get away ..._


	9. Scientia (Knowledge)

_A/N: Whew, this one took a while! Now, I won't give anything away, but the character featured in this chapter is, quite possibly, my favorite original dragoon other than Rose, so it was quite difficult for me to write this piece and get it right. Sorry it's so long. I just didn't find it fit to cut any of what I have here. Anyway, keep hanging on, the story's starting to get good!_

* * *

Everyone knew it was common practice among the higher eschelons of Wingly society, and particularly in those where intelligence and curiosity were highly prized. It was unconventional, if not exactly illegal, but the research was cheap, the results were free, and ultimately, the authorities had thus far chosen to ignore the whole operation.

Using thousands of hand-selected Human men and women, the Wingly scientists and researchers in Mirr had developed the technology for laboratory conception, using the knowledge and equipment to produce stronger, healthier, more loyal slaves. Their newfound capability for gene selection permitted virtually endless possibilities, for Winglies and their Human slaves alike.

Babies borne of the research were auctioned off according to the supposed traits with which they had been bred. Obedience would fetch anywhere from seven hundred to a thousand gold, whereas strength would bring in five hundred gold or more. Humility and loyalty were highly prized among bidders, while those with particular skill sets, like cooking or gardening or woodworking, were a dime a dozen.

However, gene selection research was still in its infancy, and one problem continued to arise. There were those infants who managed to escape the watchful eye of the Birth Committee, and were subsequently born with undesirable traits, like wit, humor, and spirit. Worst of all, though, the experiments Winglies conducted on their subjects repeatedly confirmed that maybe-just maybe-Humans happened to possess a modicum of intelligence.

And thus our story begins. With the planned development and test-tube birth of a special Human boy they named Syuveil.

* * *

His name actually means 'warrior' in the ancient Human language, a name so archaic we must have developed time travel to find it. I suppose it was the Mirr team's way of hiding the fact that his IQ far surpassed any of ours. Rather than auction him off like the others, though, the research team at Mirr gave him to us here at Aglis, for the purpose of undergoing magical testing. Likely embarrassed that his birth proved their research a farce, they destined him for life as a lab rat.

Of course, like any normal child, he met all his milestones (and then some, actually); remarkably, he spoke in full, well-constructed sentences by age one, read by eighteen months (though it was an activity we rarely permitted him time to enjoy) and developed several aesthetic and epicurean skills, like piano-playing, by age three. He was quite curious and interested in the world around him. It never ceased to amaze me that the little thing seemed to marvel at the experiments conducted on him, rather than fight them.

And though it was my duty to continue the research on him, I found myself charmed by the little boy ...

I worked in a portion of Aglis labeled Sector Five, an area inclusive to all scientists and dedicated to the research of Wingly magical superiority. Humans were frequently used in testing, most of them having been a lab subject nearly their entire existence, and having been so, exhibited strange new behaviors, developments and mutations wrought by the experiments. I felt sorry for them but at that point in my life, I was still young and naive and a job was a job.

There was a high-ranking magical chemist by the name of Yaerdel who often worked in Sector Five. He was a tall, stiff, daunting man with no sense of humor, little tolerance for mistakes and a perpetual sneer on his lips. He was good at what he did, though, and it showed. He'd received numerous awards and accolades for his research, and developed many of the technologies Winglies used on a regular basis now. It was my misfortune to assist him on this particular day.

"Savan, would you fetch the sodium selenate solution, please?"

The boy was in his cage, quietly observing his surroundings and the Winglies performing various tasks. It was an 'off' day for him, a day free from experiments and torture. I found myself staring at the little creature, confused and amazed by his abilities. On one hand, he was Human, and my entire life I'd been taught that Humans were filthy, dim-witted and helpless. On the other hand, Syuveil was just a child, one certainly in dire need of the love and affection he had never received.

"Savan?"

Syuveil caught my eye and smiled a little, then he must have realized who I was and the smile immediately disappeared, only to be replaced by a scowl as ugly as a little boy could muster.

"SAVAN!"

"Huh? Oh yes ..."

I retrieved the solution and brought it to the table. Yaerdel snatched the solution and jabbed a needle into the bottle, drawing the clear liquid into a syringe.

"What're you planning to do with that?" I asked.

"Inject it."

"Where?"

Yaerdel rolled his eyes and nodded his head toward the little boy in the cage. It took a moment, but when the information sank in, my stomach suddenly did a somersault.

"But isn't this his off-day?" I protested. "He's already had two injections of sodium selenate this week! You have no idea what this one will do to him! Why do it?"

"For the sake of research, of course," Yaerdel snapped.

"Well yes, but what is the purpose of injecting the poor boy with selenium ions when you know he's no magical creature?"

Yaerdel looked flabbergasted. He shook his head and frowned at me.

"You know as well as I do that our magic is largely a function of the way our bodily systems absorb, process and store selenium and sodium, Savan. Or ... haven't you been paying attention?"

"But it'll kill him!"

Yaerdel shrugged and continued his work with the needle, now tapping it to remove the air bubbles.

"You've obviously no intention of growing your potential, Savan," he said coolly. "True advocates of science would not stand in the way of progress."

"But it's not progress," I said, growing bolder. "It's murder!"

Yaerdel snorted. "You're concerned about my disposal of a Human?"

"No, I'm concerned about your murder of a child!"

Yaerdel calmly set the syringe down, walked to Syuveil's cage and opened the door, reaching in to pluck the boy up. It appeared as though Syuveil tried to bite him, and I would have chuckled had it not been for the circumstances. Yaerdel carried the boy back to the work table and set him upon it, then proceeded to methodically roll up Syuveil's sleeve and treat his elbow with rubbing alcohol.

"You're not serious ..." I mumbled.

"Oh, but I am, Savan!" Yaerdel said, picking up the syringe in one hand while holding the boy down with the other. He pushed down gently on the plunger, sending a spray of liquid out of the needle. He then turned to face me, his eyes ablaze.

"Now, you can either choose to help me, as a Wingly man of good sense would, or you can leave. Your choice, Savan."

I shook my head and planted myself firmly between Yaerdel and the boy. I took a deep breath and looked up, directly into Yaerdel's face. His expression was blase, disinterested.

"I won't assist you," I said, a finality to my voice I'd never known I was capable of. "I refuse to be a part in the senseless murder of a child."

"I think you'd better leave," Yaerdel said coldly, but he remained in position to inject the child with the solution.

My blood boiled at the notion and I leapt forward, grabbing the syringe and wrenching it from his grasp. Yaerdel cried out in rage, elbowing me hard in the ribcage and sending a series of beakers crashing to the floor in a whirlwind of glass shards. I made my move while he was temporarily preoccupied with the child and rammed the needle deep into the soft, fleshy part of his back. His scream of rage became one of anguish, the solution temporarily paralyzing him. He collapsed to the floor, drooling and mumbling nonsense.

The boy on the table emitted soft, whiny whimpers. I approached him slowly, holding my hands where he could see them and whispering softly.

"Shh," I crooned. "Shh ... There, there now ... I won't hurt you."

Slowly and carefully, I lifted the boy from the table and immediately he buried his face in my shoulder, clutching my neck like a lifeline. He seemed to understand I'd just saved him from a very likely and painful death. Now cradling the boy in my arms, I turned to face Yaerdel. He struggled to prop himself on his elbows to look at me, but the sneer on his face was so sinister, I couldn't regard him for long.

"I'm leaving," I said. "With Syuveil. I believe both our time and energy would be better spent with the species research squad in Sector Eleven. Consider this my resignation."

"Good riddance," Yaerdel snapped, and he collapsed back onto the floor with a groan.

I left and never looked back.

Syuveil and I moved to Sector Eleven, where I eventually landed a position as the leader of a team conducting research on dragon magic. Syuveil subsequently became a sort of lab assistant to me: filing documents, labeling chemicals and solutions, solving the simple mathematical equations so I could do the dirty work of putting them to use. He took care of the duties I was much too busy to complete as the director of a research project.

I suppose he was like a slave. Fulfilled duties like one, came at my beckon call. The others likely assumed he was a slave, though my own personal battle with the institution left me undecided as to what Syuveil really was. I never filled out the paperwork of ownership, never registered him with the Human Breeders' Association. I never bothered to write him off as a reduction on the property section of my tax paperwork. Rather, I believe I became more of a surrogate father.

After the episode with Yaerdel, I took care of Syuveil. Feeding him, cleaning up after him, making sure he was content and well-adjusted. I did my best to make him forget his first three years of life, instead placing emphasis on what he could now do and what he would become. He took great interest in my work, frequently watching procedures and often assisting with them. It seemed like he never tired-never lost interest in the world of science. While I often came home feeling exhausted, burned out and quite hopeless, Syuveil was eager to plan our next experiment or conduct research of his own.

By the time he turned ten, he and I were practically inseparable. We would have lengthy and deep conversations about society's plights, dreaming up new ways in which we would one day change the world. He was a wonderful boy, intelligent, curious, polite and well-spoken: exactly the way I would have wanted my son to be, had I ever had one. He never questioned me, never doubted the legitimacy of my parenting or of our relationship.

At least, that's how it was until he was eighteen, and all of it changed.

* * *

I'd always known there was something different about me.

Savan had informed me we were of different species. I'd known all along he wasn't my biological father. Genetics alone told that story plainly by the features of our faces, even beyond that he could be counted a member of the flying magical species and I, among the ground-dwelling nomads. But something still set me apart from the rest of the researchers and scientists at Aglis, though I could never quite put my finger on it. That is, until one day, around age seven, when I first heard the word 'slave' in reference to my being Human. In reference to me.

I'd asked Savan about it, but he always assured me I was no slave. I neither performed menial labor, nor lacked permission to do I as I pleased. Still, after that day, I continually called into question my relationship with the other scientists. We regarded each other differently somehow after that.

But it was a few years later, that I discovered what had been disturbing me all along.

It was the end of the work-week and time again for filing the documentation of the week's experiments. Savan had remained in the lab while I made my way to the archives. I spent the larger part of an hour transcribing the day's procedures and placing them together with the corresponding materials, and finally labeling everything and filing it away. Some time into my task, I ran out of ink and went in search of it on the clerk's desk in the far, secluded corner of the room. But on the desk I found something much more interesting than a bottle of ink.

On the desk lay a plain file folder, but one that looked quite unlike the ones I normally used for filing lab procedures. It was just a folded slice of heavyweight paper wrapped around a series of documents and tied with string. It wasn't conspicuous, but the fact that it was there at all piqued my interest and I picked it up.

My name spilled across the top of the file. My heart skipped a beat out of surprise, and my hands trembled with trepidation and curiosity. Gingerly, I lifted the folder's binding and removed the sheaf of papers within. The top slice of parchment sported a detailed family tree, and emblazoned at the bottom in fancy calligraphy, was a rendering of the Wingly symbol for 'Human male,' and beneath that ... my name. My heart skipped a beat.

I spread the parchment on a table, bending over it to get a closer look. It suddenly seemed as though time had stopped, waiting for me to make a discovery of truth. The family tree showed nine generations, not including me; I pored over the details of the tree, finally alighting on my parents.

_My mother, _I thought, running a finger over her spot on the tree. The tree listed her as: Celia, aged twelve; blonde hair, blue eyes. My heart hurt._ Still a child ..._

The tree listed my father as Jogn, a forty-three year-old field laborer, a sentence placed upon him as punishment for general misbehavior under none other than Ignatius Faust.

The stack of documents accompanying the family tree described numerous laboratory procedures, techniques and anthropological conjectures, each relating to the meeting and copulation of Celia and Jogn. My entire birth story lay in front of me, retold in analytical, scientific fashion to be preserved and revisited by interested parties years from now. For me there would be no listening to the recounting of a momentous occasion in my mother's life. No wondrous speculation about the way I came into the world. None of it. Just documents and lies. Scrolls and the cold, unforgiving truth of my existence.

I heard footsteps on the hallway tile, and hastily I stood and turned around to watch my mentor enter the room.

"Savan, what is this?"

I thrust the papers toward him, my grip so fierce I thought my fingers might break. I felt tears stinging my eyes but somehow managed to hold them in check. I brandished the stack of papers like a weapon; his shoulders slumped and his face fell.

"They're the documentation of your birth and pedigree."

"My ... my pedigree?"

"Yes. Your bloodline."

"I know what it is, Savan. I'm asking why." My voice sounded foreign to me. I'd never had occasion to use such a tone.

"You were intelligently designed," the Wingly man replied dejectedly, suddenly looking very haggard and thin.

"You mean I was _bred?! _Like a racing horse or a prized dog?!"

Savan nodded weakly, now avoiding my eyes. "Such is the blight of this terrible society. Please, Syu ... I hadn't meant for you to find those. Please ... hand them to me."

I shook my head and chewed on my bottom lip. "But why?" I asked, my voice squeaking and eyes now spilling tears onto my cheeks. "Why? Humans aren't dogs or horses. We think for ourselves."

Savan looked up. "Because that's the way things have been for hundreds of years."

I'm not certain of the reason, but Savan's reaction hurt the worst. Even worse than discovering the truth of my birth story. For the first time in my life, the world was split in two: black and white. Right and wrong. Me and Savan. Humans and Winglies. _Us and them_.

"Syuveil ..." Savan said, gently. "I'm ... are, are you ...?"

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, as if closing my eyes would somehow make this sudden misery go away. Finally, I dropped my hands to my sides and looked up.

"There's something about learning that your entire existense is a farce," I said, the bitterness in my voice plain. "It's not all right and I'm not okay. I now have to come to terms with the fact that my life wasn't wrought by Soa, created with love and-"

"Nobody's life is created with love, Syuveil. The world is a terrible place!"

"-hope. No, I was bred. In a lab. With a specific duty and my future already planned out for me by another person. Not a god. A _person_. There's something inherently unethical in that, Savan ... beyond the mangled ethics of slavery."

"But your birth had _purpose!" _Savan protested. "If only half the births in this world were purposeful, we would have a very different world, indeed."

"The single flaw in that argument is the world to which you refer. One where a species _owns _another and makes those purposeful decisions independently."

"Syuveil ..."

"No, Savan," I snapped, cutting him off. I turned my back to him, unable to look at a man whom I had admired and adored only moments ago. "You know I'm right. My existence holds no purpose except to assist you and your race in upholding the terrible injustices thrust upon my people. My entire life is a lie."

"You were bred to be a warrior, Syuveil."

For a moment, I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly, if at all. I almost thought I'd imagined it. But when I turned to face him, he still stared at the ground. I knew from my childhood that Savan looked others square in the face when he lied, as if to dare them to contest him. When telling the truth, however, he remained the meek, humble man I'd always known him to be.

"A warrior," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "You've got to be joking! I've got the pedigree of a village idiot!"

Savan shook his head slowly, still avoiding my gaze. "I'm afraid it's true," he said calmly, then finally brought his eyes to mine. "Your grandparents, parents ... your entire family tree came together with the intention that it would turn out a warrior for the arena."

"A losing one, no doubt," I retorted.

Savan just continued to shake his head. I had every intention of taking a deep breath and sorting through my emotions logically, but it just wasn't possible in this situation.

I managed a derisive laugh and said, "Hunh. Warrior, indeed. I suppose now you'll want me to believe their sending me here was all part of their plan."

Savan shook his head. "Your birth upended that research, Syuveil. It was abandoned after you were born."

"For more profitable ventures, I assume."

"Please ... don't be this way. As I said, I would that you hadn't found those..." Savan motioned toward the documents.

I sighed and thrust them toward him, forcing myself to look the other way. Savan came forward and took the papers dejectedly.

"Syuveil, I-"

I turned to look at the Wingly man, and my stomach turned. Without another thought, I shrugged off my lab coat and handed it to him.

"What's th-?"

"I would say that I'm quitting, Savan, but I can't, for the fact that I don't work for you. You own me, and have all along. So I suppose, then, that all that's left for me is to come to terms with the limitations of my Humanity. I need some time alone. You can, at the very least, grant me that."

I didn't wait for Savan's response. I didn't need to. He knew he owed me that much. As a Wingly master. As an intelligent being. And as the only father figure I'd ever known.

**.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.**

It was later that evening, after I'd skipped dinner, that I heard a knock at my bedchamber door. I knew who it was.

"Come in," I mumbled, not bothering to turn away from my desk.

The door creaked open and Savan poked his shiny bald head through the crack.

"Would you mind if I came in, Syu?" he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I said come in. Would you like a formal invitation?"

I turned toward him, and watched as Savan squeezed through the door and shut it quietly, as if he thought I might explode and maintaining distance would keep him safe. It was at least a relief to again see the Savan I'd known for so long, rather than the cold, objective one.

"I understand you're upset with me," he said. "Hurt. Angry, even. I apologize. Again, I hadn't meant for you to find those."

"Really?" I snapped, ignoring the apology. "You left them on the desk in the filing room! Right in-"

"Plain sight," Savan interjected. "I know." He looked up and met my eyes. "I was expecting to do the filing that day."

"But it's usually-"

"Your job, I know. But I'd come across the document folder and I didn't want you to see it. I set it out to remind myself to get rid of it. I had every intention of destroying those papers."

"But-"

"You left the lab before I could suggest you take the afternoon off."

I fought to maintain hold of my anger. I knew I was being childish. Thus far in my life, I'd managed to avoid the teenaged angst that plagued so many of the other researchers' progeny, but I was willing to grant myself just one opportunity to be selfish and ridiculous, even if it meant temporarily sacrificing logic to emotion.

Savan walked to my bed and motioned toward it with a hand.

"May I?" he asked.

I nodded nonchalantly and he sat, patting the bed next to him. I regarded him for a moment, then rolled my eyes and slowly rose, making my way to the bed and flopping down next to him, arms folded across my chest.

"There," Savan said, the smile on his face evidence in his voice, "that's better. Now, look at me Syuveil."

I hated the fatherliness in his voice, but I turned to face him.

"It was a mistake. I screwed up," Savan said firmly. "For the past thirteen years, I've done nothing but try to protect you-"

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, but Savan grabbed my arm.

"-No, hear me out. I'm serious," he went on. "I've raised you as though you were my own and I care about you and your welfare."

"You don't," I snapped, tears stinging my eyes again.

"I _do_," Savan insisted, now more firm than I'd ever heard him. His eyes flashed. "And it hurt me when you said I own you. I don't, Syuveil. I don't own you. I never have."

"What? You're a Wingly. Winglies own Humans. You said it yourself. It's the way of the world. The way things are."

"Yes, I said that, but one mustn't always subscribe to secular norms. Had you read through all of the documents in that stack, you would have found a set of ownership papers. They're blank. I never filled them out."

I shook my head again. "Wh ... what?"

"It's true. I don't own you, Syuveil. You're a free man. Perhaps not in principle, and for that I'm sorry. Legally however, you're as free as I am."

"But ... but the research department at Sector Five still owns me then, doesn't it?"

"Documentation of ownership was destroyed after I rescued you. I made sure of it."

"Can't you be arrested for harboring a fugitive?"

"You're no fugitive. You're my son."

I remained quiet for several minutes. Savan allowed me the time to consider all he'd said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, stroking his goatee in thought. I knew he was right, but even without the papers, principle mattered more in this age than legality; I was a Human, and being such meant one was a slave with few exceptions. Nevertheless, though we were still different species, he'd treated me as an equal my entire life and had given me everything I'd ever needed or wanted. He was the closest thing to a father I had.

"I'm sorry, Savan," I said finally.

He looked up, surprise written on his face.

"I didn't ... I mean, I'm still angry about the documents-that you kept them from me for so long-but I suppose I can look past it. It's what I am now that matters most, not what I used to be or could have been."

Savan smiled. "I'm glad you understand. You're so smart, Syuveil. Smarter than me, certainly ... but even the most intelligent of us don't know everything, and that includes the innerworkings of others' minds. We're still learning ... from each other."

He stood up, offering me a hand. I took it, but instead of shaking his hand, I pulled him into a hug. And when we separated, tears clouded the Wingly man's eyes.

* * *

Not two weeks later, Savan remained in the lab while I sought a few fresh supplies, but on my return, I encountered something quite unexpected. Before I rounded the corner into the building's atrium, I heard voices, and most importantly, distinguished my mentor's name. I paused, cautious to remain hidden by the wall, but I tuned my ears carefully to the conversation.

"... assistant to Savan."

_They're talking about me_, I thought.

"But isn't he just a Human?" another Wingly asked. "He can't possibly carry out the duties of a lab assistant. He's Savan's slave, I thought."

"No, I don't believe so," the first replied. "Not once have I ever seen Savan punish him. And he's quite educated. Much too smart to be a slave. Word has it Savan stole the boy from Sector Five and is hiding him here."

"What, he's raising him then? Like a father?"

"That's what I hear."

The second Wingly snorted loudly. "Well we can't stand for that! Humans will start to get the wrong idea. Something must be done."

My stomach churned and I suddenly felt like vomiting. I turned and fled from the atrium, back toward the laboratory, where Savan met me in the doorway.

"What took so long, Syu?" he asked, but immediately he saw my distress and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, shaking me gently.

"The ... the researchers," I gasped. "They're suspicious."

"Suspicious? Of what?"

"You."

"Me?!" Savan shook his head. "Syuveil, calm down. You're not making any sense."

I took a few deep, calming breaths and went on, "Yes. They suspect you stole me from Sector Five and are teaching me. ... which, you _did _... and you _are_."

Savan dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Yes, well ... Perhaps they know, but they do not understand. Besides, what business is it of theirs who you are or what you do? Or, what relationship you have to me, for that matter? It is of no consequence to them whether I teach you or beat you."

"No, Savan," I protested. "They mentioned that they won't stand for it. And..." I hestitated, knowing full well the gravity of what I'd just uncovered.

"And?" Savan prompted.

"And that something must be done."

The words tumbled out, end-over-end, and I wondered if they'd been coherent. Savan paused for a moment, staring off into the distance. I knew he was thinking. He always appeared absent when he thought, like he travelled to some distant dimesion or something.

"What ... _'Something must be done'-_what does that mean?" I asked.

Savan sighed and turned away from me. "It means I've done a poor job of keeping you and your situation a secret. They are aware I don't own you. It's problematic."

I dropped my gaze to my feet and Savan again fell deep into thought, stroking his goatee and pacing about the room.

"Well ... what are we going to do?" I asked, after some time had passed. Savan stopped pacing.

"I guess there's only one thing I _can _do now," he said, the sadness in his voice overwhelming.

"And what's that?" I was almost afraid of the answer.

He looked up and met my eyes. "I have to let you go."

* * *

After much speculation as to what 'letting me go' entailed, Savan and I finally agreed on a plan that left me leaving Aglis, or at least only for a time until Savan could repair the damage we'd caused.

"We'll get you out of here," Savan declared. "First, however, we must disguise you."

I thus submitted myself to Savan's hand. He made up a dye and treated my hair, then developed a solution which he proceeded to draw into an eye dropper and apply to my eyes. And while all of it was relatively painless, it made for a great annoyance when I realized it was only for the purpose of getting me out of Aglis without suspicion, and more importantly, alive.

When I was finally able to observe my new appearance, the reflection in the mirror revealed an entirely different person. I could have been a younger brother to Prime Minister Dorian Thayus. My thick mop of mousy brown hair was now bright platinum, and my irises now a vivid orange instead of blue. I turned to Savan, too awed to speak. He smiled.

"It's only a temporary disguise," he said. "Three days at most. It's enough time, though, to get you to safety."

"But ... won't everyone realize it's a disguise when I can't fly anywhere?"

Savan shook his head. "I don't believe so. Most Winglies choose to walk rather than fly. It expends less energy. Still, it would be best if you remained clandestine. Impersonation is a crime punishable by death for Humans."

I nodded, having nothing left to argue or say.

"Come," Savan said, waving me to follow him. "We must get you packed."

**.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.**

Once preparations had been made, Savan and I stood just inside the doors of the atrium of Sector Eleven. Wingly scientists entered and left the building quickly, trapped in their own thoughts and tasks. I was thankful they ignored us.

I now carried everything I owned in a bag slung over my shoulder, including several books, an inkwell and pen, a few pieces of parchment, a candle, and enough food to last me three days. However, that I was actually going to set off on my own terrified me, perhaps even more than the prospect of punishment. I'd known nothing but Aglis and its research facility my entire life. In fact, I'd scarcely been outside in the city.

"Head for Kadessa," Savan said. He must not have seen the point in stalling. "The teleporter is just outside the complex, before you get to the residential area."

"But what will I do once I'm there?" I asked, panicked. "Where should I go?"

Savan placed his hands on my shoulders and bent slightly to look me in the eyes.

"Go to the Frahma Memorial National Library," he said. "You'll find sanctuary there. Ask for Teverus. He's the head librarian and a close friend of mine from university. I've already contacted him. He'll be expecting you."

"Will I be his slave?"

Savan shook his head firmly. "No. He's prepared to give you a job. A real one, with a salary."

"Then what?"

Savan's eyebrows knit together, and he managed a small half-smile.

"You'll work, of course. Live, like the free man you are."

"But I'm only eighteen!"

"And more educated than most thirty year-old Winglies. Until this situation blows over, you will stay with Teverus in Kadessa and assist him at the library. Then, once things have cleared, you will be free to come back with me."

"Can't you just fill out the ownership paperwork, Savan?" The audacity of my own inquiry shocked even me.

His mouth dropped open and he uttered a small cry of surprise. "Is ... is that what you really want, Syuveil?"

I considered it for a moment. It was certainly the easy way out, and I would probably have given anything to remain with Savan, just to avoid my fear of the unknown. However, I knew deep down that I could never stand for slavery. I couldn't picture myself the property of another being, especially when said being had raised me and treated me with such respect for so long.

"No," I replied. "Not really."

Savan breathed a sigh of relief.

"All right," he said. "I suppose you'd best be on your way then. Head east, out of the research complex, and you'll find the teleporter outside." Then, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine and wrapped his arms around me.

"Good luck, my son," he said, his voice waivering. I could tell he was fighting to choke back sobs. Frankly, I was doing the same.

When he let me go, I turned and exited through the glass barrier of Sector Eleven's entrance and bounded down the steps, picking up my pace to a brisk walk. I forced myself not to look back. I knew Savan would be standing there, watching me go until I was beyond his line of sight, and I wouldn't be able to stand seeing him so torn.

* * *

"Good day, Savan."

Looking up from the stack of papers I'd been glancing through in the lounge, I found myself eye-to-eye with Yaerdel, my former boss and the man I'd assaulted over Syuveil's future. He smirked at me, waiting for a response.

"Good day," I replied, turning back to my papers, but Yaerdel apparently wasn't satisfied.

"I'm assuming you've heard the news," he remarked, pouring himself a mug of steaming coffee.

I darted a glance at him, both curious and worried.

"No," I said. "I haven't."

"_Real-_ly."

Yaerdel let the drama of the moment linger while he sipped his coffee and doctored it up. I struggled to still my trembling, made all the more obvious by the papers I held. But if Yaerdel noticed, he never let on.

"Teverus Swete was discovered in his office dead, yesterday," he said, casually, turning to face me. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "He was an old friend of yours, wasn't he?"

He regarded me smugly over the rim of his mug. I suddenly felt the urge to faint and my pulse quickened.

"N, no ..." I mumbled, swallowing hard. "I ... hadn't heard."

Yaerdel pushed away from the counter and strode calmly to the doorway.

"So sorry for your loss," he said, only the slightest hint of sarcasm to his voice.

And he slipped out the door as quietly as he'd entered.

I quickly left the lounge, nearly sprinting back to my quarters, where I phoned Teverus' office. My heart sank with every ring, and after twenty of them I hung up. I tried his home as well, but still, no one ever picked up. The encounter with Yaerdel left me feeling apprehensive. I sensed somehow that I'd just sent Syuveil into danger-into a trap.

And I had absolutely no way to warn him.

* * *

I was in Kadessa almost instantly.

Compared to Aglis, the city was busy, bustling and wonderfully aromatic. Various food shops lined the streets immediately surrounding Town Square, where I'd arrived in the teleporter, and the sights and smells associated heightened my senses. Winglies of all ages and sizes walked the streets, heading this way and that, jostling each other as they went. The by-product exhaust of technology scented the air, and towering above it all, on Palatial Hill near the north end of town, stood the dazzling Palace of the Winglies, Melbu Frahma's sparkling residence.

_I'll never be suspected of anything here, _I thought excitedly. _Everyone's too busy to notice anyone else!_

Hoisting my bag a little higher on my shoulder, I approached the next Wingly I saw, a rough-looking rotund man with a few days' growth of beard on his chin. Then, implementing by best assimilation of a Wingly accent, I spoke.

"Good day, Sir. I'm afraid I'm from out of town, and I'm having quite the trouble locating landmarks. Might I ask you where I could find the Frahma Memorial Library?"

The man grunted at me and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. I thanked him and headed off. After asking directions twice more, I eventually emerged onto a beautiful, wide thoroughfare, lined with fanciful, landscaped trees and bright brick sidewalks. What looked like a college campus loomed at the end of the street, and numerous cafes, bakeshops and restaurants dotted the area. Directly before me, however, stood the magnificent structure of the library.

It was a short, square building with a brick facade and decorated in typefied style, with numerous arches, high vaulted doorways and beautiful stained glass windows. Stone gargoyles kept watch over the library's patrons as they left and lingered about, reading or chatting on the front stoop.

Feeling great relief at my success, I jogged up the steps and into the building.

Much to my surprise, there weren't nearly as many people inside the library as there had been outside. In fact, I saw only one: a young Wingly boy who was just checking out a stack of books. He proceeded to leave, and I made my way to the main desk.

"E...ex, excuse me," I said.

The librarian on duty, a thin, wiry woman with frizzy hair, a long, hooked nose and sunken cheeks typed endlessly in an electronic database. Her glasses slid lower and lower on her nose until eventually they fell off entirely, prevented from smashing on the floor only by the thin gold chain that held them around her neck. I cleared my throat several times, until finally she turned toward me, looking quite annoyed.

"Can I help you?" she asked haughtily, in a high nasally voice. She picked her glasses up and set them back on her nose.

"I ... I'm here to see Teverus Swete. Is he around today?"

The woman sighed heavily and pressed a button on her desk. A loud beep sounded, and she spoke into the speaker of an intercom.

"Mister Swete, there's a young man here to see you. He'll be right up."

She turned back to me and laced her fingers together before her on the desk, giving me a sarcastic smile.

"Go ahead," she said. "He'll be in his office. It's the third door on the right once you take the teleporter to the second floor."

She pointed toward the back of the library. I thanked her and headed toward the teleporter, feeling giddy that Savan and I had successfully fooled everyone. Once on the second floor, I counted the doors to my right and knocked firmly on the third one. No one called to me from inside, however, and my second knock unlatched the door, making it creak inward slightly.

_She told him I was coming_, I reasoned. _I'll just go in._

Pushing past the door, I entered Teverus's office and was immediately hit with a pungent odor. After wrestling with my gag reflex for a few moments, I stepped further into the office, around the door and to the elegant walnut desk beyond. Bookshelves lined the walls, each of them packed full with colorfully bound volumes and tomes, and elegant sculptures relating to the history of Endiness stood about the room at carefully placed intervals. It was the office of a true academic.

"Mr. Swete?" I called. "Mr. Swete? It's Savan's friend, Syuveil ... Hello?"

The closer to the desk I got, the stronger the odor became until finally I peeked over the edge and found the clear source of the smell. Sprawled behind the desk was a bloody corpse, likely dead for more than two days, and by the robes of office it wore, it could be none other than Teverus Swete.

Frantic, all I heard was the pounding of my own heart as a rush of adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. I had no other options. I had to get out of there ... and _fast_.

I dropped my bag, turned and took off for the teleporter, heading back downstairs to the front doors, but finding them now locked and the librarian gone, I was suddenly struck with the idea that this entire plan had been a setup. I turned and ran for the back stairwell, darting around bookcases, tables and filing cabinets, all the while turning over a mass of ideas in my head.

I'd just become the butt of an elaborate ruse, all of it designed to either get me killed or at least locked away for the rest of my life, where I'd never again call into question Wingly law. They'd caught me, and there was no way out. The authorities in Kadessa had the library surrounded, all of them prepared to frame me for a murder I neither committed, nor knew about until just minutes ago.

I was struck with another thought then. Savan had orchestrated my entire escape. Was it possible that he-the very man who'd acted as my father for so long-dreamed up my destruction? That he'd planned everything and seen me off, just to watch me crash and burn in the end? Just the thought of it made me suddenly weak.

Feeling defeated, I slumped to the ground in the rear stairwell, my back pressed to the cold brick of the exterior wall. I brought my knees to my chest and buried my face in my hands.

_Think, Syuveil, think! _my brain shouted.

After a short period of feeling sorry for myself and fighting back tears, I realized that my only route of escape was the only one for which I lacked the ability. The sky provided a means out of my situation, and because my Wingly disguse afforded only looks and not wings, I would be stuck until the authorities found their way in. That was, unless ...

Quickly, I dashed up the stairs to the top floor in archives, where I burst through the door and charged toward the fire escape ladder. I pressed the button so it dropped to shoulder level, backed up for a run-up and took a flying leap onto the ladder. The old wrought iron hadn't seen use in years and it creaked and groaned under my weight. I managed to shinny up the ladder and throw open the hatch to the roof, where I was met with blinding light and the blare of sirens.

After a brief survey of my surroundings, I saw no Wingly guards and climbed out of the fire escape. Another quick decision, and I was running full tilt toward the closest building, mentally preparing myself for the ridiculous jump across the chasm between them. Then, when I was a mere thirty feet from the roof's edge, a voice called from behind me. One so cold and calculating, it could only have come from a Wingly.

"Halt there, Human."

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart racing, and turned slowly to come face-to-face with the end of a rapier. Two guards hurried forward, wrenching my arms behind my back and shackling my wrists and ankles.

"You're under arrest," the guard with the rapier said. "For impersonation of a Wingly."

* * *

I'd been growing steadily more worried as the days passed and I still hadn't heard from Syuveil. The newspapers confirmed the terrible tragedy I'd been denying since speaking with Yaerdel. Teverus was dead, and with his passing, there was no longer a safe haven for Syuveil. Convinced of the worst, I'd been preparing myself for the possibility that he was now likely dead as well. It broke my heart to know I was to blame for both of them being gone.

Then one day, as I exited chemical storage, I overheard two researchers from my department, Phineas and Zol, discussing the daily news.

"-can't believe it," Zol was saying. "He was here just the other day!"

"Right? And I never pegged the kid for debauchery like this!"

"What's going on?" I asked, approaching.

The two men turned to face me, both of them blanching like they'd just encountered a ghost.

"Savan ..." Phineas mumbled, and Zol stammered through a hasty apology.

"W, we ... we were just ... just discussing current events, Sir," he said.

"And what might those be?" I asked.

Phineas and Zol exchanged glances, then Phineas said, "Th ... th,there's b,been an ... arrest. ... In Kadessa."

"An arrest?" My heart skipped a beat. "Of whom? For what?"

Phineas and Zol both dropped their gaze to the floor.

"Of your assistant, Syuveil," Zol said. "He was discovered in disguise at the Frahma Memorial Library yesterday."

"What?!"

Phineas nodded, dejectedly. "Sorry he ran away, Savan. I wasn't aware he felt he'd been treated poorly."

"He _wasn't _treated poorly," I snapped. "How do you two know about this?"

Zol extended his arm, showing me the newspaper he clutched in his hand.

"They found a body in the library too," he explained. "I guess they were going to blame the murder on Syuveil, but the evidence turned out the guy had been dead long before Syuveil arrived. Too many witnesses said otherwise, or I'm sure they would have-"

"Give me that!"

I snatched the newspaper from Zol and quickly scanned the article, learning and memorizing every detail. Syuveil had been caught in his disguise and arrested, and the trial was set for two weeks hence.

"My god!" I gasped. "I've got to do something!"

* * *

I spent the next two weeks in an area they called the "Prison Hole" in Law City Zenebatos. It was a dark, dank chamber made of stone and designed to provide nothing but misery to the criminals contained there. With no windows or doors to let in light, one had no idea what time of day it was. Without food, one quickly lost weight and energy, and the cracks and gaps in the stone wall allowed the cruel winds through, chilling me to the bone and producing in me a persistent, hacking cough.

At first I'd struggled against my shackles, pounding on the stone walls and screaming to be released, but prison has the effect that eventually, you realize no one cares about your misery and no one is going to come help you. Such was true in my case. I was so weak and so accustomed to the conditions in the prison, that by the time my trial rolled around, I was rendered nearly immobile. Perhaps that's the way they wanted it.

The guards unchained me from the wall, forced a hot, gooey mess of something like gruel down my throat, then teleported me and themselves from the prison to the Great Court.

I was led into the court in shackles and chained to two wooden posts on the left. The jury, consisting of four lapto robots, descended with the judge, a large amorphous robot creature running on artificial intelligence and likely controlled from some far-off power generator. Had I not been on trial and subsequently scared out of my wits, I would have found study of the robot creatures fascinating.

"I am Nomos," the large robot said. "I am the Justice. My word is the only Truth."

The jurors buzzed and whirred in approval, and the court went utterly silent.

"Trial number One-Zero-Two-Seven-Nine: Wingly jurisdiction Kadessa versus Human male Syuveil." Nomos' pronouncement was followed by a bunch of buzzing and whirring from the jurors. Then:

"Defendant accused of impersonation, a crime punishable by death under Wingly Law, Code 298: Any Human found in the guise of a Wingly, whether costume or otherwise, or found imitating or impersonating any known Wingly, whether or not under the influence thereof, shall be convicted of felony against the Wingly nation and put to death."

Whether it was my own sudden indifference to life or something the guards had put in the gruel, I had little reaction to the reading of the law, even the portion regarding the death penalty.

"The defendent," Nomos continued, "was found wearing a disguise resembling the appearance of one, Wingly Prime Minister Dorian Thayus on the fifth day of the sixth month, in the year 554. Charged according to due process of the law."

Nomos turned to the jury.

"The verdict!"

"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!" the lapto jurors chanted.

"I, the Honorable Judge Nomos of the Great Court of Zenebatos, hereby find you, Human Syuveil, guilty of impersonation of Wingly Dorian Thayus, and sentence you to death-"

A loud, cheer of approval went up from those in the court.

"-Bring out the winged executioners! Come, Selebus, Vector and Kubila!"

Three strange-looking Winglies appeared out of thin air. The first, a woman, possessed six feathery wings and no arms; I might have mistaken her for an angel, had it not been for the ugly, vicious grin she wore. The second executioner, a diminutive man with a long, platinum ponytail and wearing nothing but a green loincloth, a pair of spectacles and an earring, carried a large pair of gardening shears. And, wielding a huge scythe and a grimoire, the last Wingly was clearly the leader of the trio; he wore the traditional executioner garb, complete with the 'kerchief covering the lower part of his face, and he sported an ominous set of black wings.

"Start the execution!" Nomos boomed.

"WAIT!"

The entire court turned to face the entrance, and there ... stood Savan. He made his way briskly into the center of the court, everyone's eyes locked on him the entire way.

"You dare interrupt the progression of justice?!" Nomos asked, as though he were more surprised than irritated that proceedings were interrupted.

"My name is Savan ... and yes."

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but Savan continued before Nomos could object.

"I am here to confess something," he said, hanging his head momentarily. Then he looked up, locking his eyes on the judge.

"What you now accuse Syuveil of is really my fault."

Before the crowd could react, Savan held a hand up, silencing them, and then went on.

"I never owned Syuveil legally. I possessed the documentation and refused to turn it in. I admit to my assault of Yaerdel Hasal, and to my open appropriation of laboratory property. I stole Syuveil from his rightful owners, the research team at Sector Five. Now, I _would _ask that you forgive me, for my judgment was clouded by what my mind registered as justice and good will, but today I ask that you forgive Syuveil-"

Savan motioned toward me with a hand, but went on.

"-for he's truly done nothing but accept my will as his own. He's performed his responsibilities as dutifully as any legal slave would and better. I ask that you acquit him of any and all charges. The responsibility for the offenses he's committed belongs to me."

The silence following Savan's speech seemed to draw on forever. A part of me-perhaps my common sense-wanted desperately to thank Savan for coming to my aid, but the rest of me, pegged by emotion, resisted. I sincerely wanted nothing more than to be put to death. To rid myself of the suffering of this life. To no longer be forced to face a world of inequal liberty. Finally, Nomos spoke.

"And this is all true?"

Somehow, though he had no eyes or expression, I knew the judge had addressed me. I hung my head, both furious at Savan for feeling the need to rescue me after all the grief he'd already caused and shameful that I'd allowed it all to happen.

"Speak, Human!"

"Yes," I said, so quietly I'm certain even the guards nearby didn't hear.

"Verdict?" Nomos turned back to his jury.

"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"

My stomach turned and I caught the look of astonishment on Savan's face. It only made me angrier.

"I, the Honorable Judge Nomos of the Great Court of Zenebatos, hereby find you, _Wingly Savan_-"

The crowd gasped in shock and Savan jumped as if to get away. A nearby guard stopped him.

"-guilty of theft, assault and collaboration to commit a felony. Sentencing to solitary living until further notice-"

The guards placed Savan in chains, but paused for Nomos to close court. He didn't, though. Everyone turned to face me, anticipating what was probably the most publicized trial since Diaz.

"And you, Human Syuveil," Nomos continued, "I find guilty of failing to yield to Wingly law. Sentencing to slave auction at Kadessa. Case closed!"

And before we were both marched out of the court, Savan met my eyes with a look so sorrowful and pitiable, it couldn't mean anything but that he was sorry. It satisfied me that this time, I managed to cling to my anger. I neither responded to him nor acknowledged his support. And with that, I let the guards lead me away.

* * *

Considering the reputation of the Wingly court system, I had half expected to be put to death anyway, and honestly, it would have been preferable to the circumstances I acquired at the slave auction.

I was purchased for four-hundred and fifty gold (a very small sum, considering other male slaves my age often sold for as much as eighteen hundred gold) to a sharply dressed Wingly man named Adelai Lortey. He led the conservative party in Wingly Parliament under Dorian Thayus; the irony almost made me want to laugh. Almost.

A mere two hours later, when we arrived at his elaborate estate in Kadessa's richest neighborhood, I discovered the details of my new position. I became, from then on, Adelai Lortey's stableboy.

Allowing me time to freshen up before assuming my duties was, in all likelihood, the nicest act Lortey ever afforded me. Upon facing the looking glass, the man staring back at me was not at all who I used to be. In just a few short weeks, I'd become dirty, grizzled and unkempt, and I certainly looked much older than my eighteen years. I sported nearly a month's growth on my jaw and my hair had grown out past my ears, framing my angular features rather nicely: my baby-faced visage was gone.

I picked up the disposable razor I'd been given, then turned back to the mirror. The hand holding the razor moved to my cheek, but before I made the first swipe, I set the object down. There was something about my new appearance that spoke to the pain I'd just been through. I didn't want to lose touch with that emotion. The facial hair somehow lent me a new ruggedness I'd never seen before in my face and I rather liked it. I was half-tempted to trim it down to a goatee, but then I was reminded of Savan and refrained. I merely washed up and walked outside to meet my new master at the barn for him to explain my duties.

Almost immediately, I understood what Savan had once meant when he'd told me I was no slave.

Lortey's slaves all lived in a shared hovel behind the stables, except for me, who slept in an empty stall in the stable, keeping company with his collection of prized, Arterian racehorses. My first day in my new role as stableboy was simply terrible. An unfamiliarity with horses led to an apprehensive skittishness around them at best, a complete terror of them at worst. The horses weren't exactly comfortable around me either, and I frequently ended the day bruised, battered and emotionally scarred.

On more than one occasion, I'd had to dodge a horse's flailing hoof, and often I wasn't quick enough, landing perfect horsehoe-shaped welts on various body parts. Once, a horse struck me in the cheekbone, knocking my glasses off. He proceeded to stomp all over them in his panic, and I made due without a pair for a good two months until Lortey finally saw that my job performance suffered without them and purchased me a new pair. I'd just been lucky the horse hadn't been sporting horseshoes.

But a lack of spectacles was the least of my worries.

My athletic ability left much to be desired, especially when it came to lifting hay bales and toting them around the barn. I often had to drag them, one-by-one to their proper places. I was clumsy at feeding time, the horses frequently knocking the grain from my hands so it spilled to the floor, and my ability to polish a saddle often displeased Lortey, who would dirty the saddles just to make me polish them again.

And if it weren't enough that my responsibilities often escaped my level of skill, Lortey's other slaves frequently poked fun at me. Unable to find a suitable outlet for their agression toward their master, they satisfied their urge for nastiness by making my life miserable.

"Shoveling shit again, eh stableboy?" they'd ask. "You missed a spot!"

They'd then throw a pile of manure onto an area of the barn floor I'd just rendered spotless, and would finally walk away, their raucous laughter ringing in my ears long after they were gone. It didn't surprise me that Humans had yet to obtain their freedom: so many of them refused to work with one another. They'd rather snap at each other's throats and cause each other pain and misery rather than unite over their common plight. It was a tragedy, really, in every sense of the word. Not a one of Lortey's slaves (and most other ones elsewhere, I would assume) was aware that Humans had originally survived through teamwork after they'd fallen from the Divine Tree.

Things continued this way for another two years. My nineteenth birthday came and went with not even as much as an acknowledgement, let alone a celebration. My twentieth birthday passed in much the same way, and the longer my servitude grew, the lonelier I got.

Fed up one day, with both the loneliness and my situation in general, I marched straight into the slaves' hovel and demanded to know their reasoning for excluding me. They all stared at me for a time, as though I had three heads.

"'Cause you's a purdy boy," one man in the corner finally offered.

I raised my eyebrows. "E, excuse me?"

"You know. A pretty boy," a slight blonde girl added. "You've never had a real job in your life." She got up from where she'd been on her bed pallet, walked to me, grabbed my arm and led me outside.

"Your name's Syuveil, right?" she said, squinting up at me through the sunlight. I was thoroughly surprised she'd pronounced it correctly.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, Syuveil ... if you're looking for friends, you'd better find a different profession."

"Slavery isn't a profession," I protested. "It's misery."

"Exactly."

"B, but ... but shouldn't we stick together? Support one another?"

The girl rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah right. It's every man for himself out here."

She turned to walk away, but I grabbed her arm.

"Wait, no," I said. "It ... it shouldn't be that way."

"And why not?" She whirled to face me, hands on her hips, her ponytails bobbing.

"Because," I said emphatically. "We'll never get out of this unless we do."

Her mouth curved into a sort of half-smile, then she dropped her eyes and nodded, though she remained silent.

"What's ... what's your name?" I ventured then, so eager for intelligent contact I was willing to do just about anything to keep her there talking to me.

She brought her gaze up and regarded me strangely for several minutes, eyeing me up and down and smirking.

"Stella," she said finally, thrusting her hand out for me to shake it. "I'm the maid around here."

I grinned, and taking her hand, bent and kissed her knuckles. She giggled girlishly and I laughed right along with her.

We became instanteous friends. Through her, I learned the other slaves' names and stations. There was Bartel, the rough old man with missing teeth and a thick drawl, who acted as a sort of handyman around the estate. He'd been in Lortey's care as long as any of the rest of them could remember. There was Kirin, the gardner, who had once been owned by Charle Frahma before she'd been sold to Lortey. And there was Asrael, the cook, and Yanis, the butler. And Stella had once been the ladies' maid for Lortey's wife, until she passed away last year. He'd liked her enough to keep her on as a maid. I shared my own story with her; it seemd to both sadden and impress her.

**.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.**

In the coming months, I grew to love Stella. She was smart and clever, learning quickly and willing to spend extra time studying with me. She took an immediate fascination in astronomy and astrology, begging me to stay up late with her so she could stargaze. We would often lay out on the grass together, beside the slave hovel, staring up at the heavens and wondering what lay beyond our little planet. She adored reading as well, and she read aloud to me frequently. I enjoyed the melody of her voice.

She helped me convince the other slaves to allow me to instruct them in small things, like reading, writing and arithmetic. Every last one of them had been slaves their entire lives; most had never had any kind of instruction. It enraged me that none of them even knew how to spell their own name, and I threw myself into my new role as undercover professor when I wasn't battling my everyday stablehand tasks. My life had taken a sudden turn for the better, and I was loving every minute of it.

At least, until shortly before the second anniversary of my service to Lortey.

The first time he discovered us, I shouldered all the blame and he took me into his study. There, he brought out an enormous bullwhip, stripped me of my shirt, bent me over a chair and beat me. Searing pain like nothing I'd ever experienced ripped down my back with every crack of the whip. Lortey raged as he struck, many of his sentences lacking coherence.

"I never should have bought you!" he cried. "I knew you were trouble, you little bastard!"

All the while I screamed bloody murder. My obvious anguish must have satisfied him because he stopped beating me long before I'd expected him to. Still, his chest heaved with the effort, and his eyes flashed in fury.

"Get out of my sight," he snapped. "I went easy on you this time, boy. Don't let it happen again."

I didn't stick around to protest. I grabbed my shirt and stumbled back outside to the stable. Stella met me in the barn doorway.

"Are you okay?" she asked, gently, but her eyes widened when she saw the new stripes I wore. "Oh, god ..."

She ran to the hovel and back, bringing with her a tin box full of first aid supplies. I slumped onto a stool and she set to work treating my wounds. She was gentle and attentive, cleaning the blood away and applying a healing salve.

"We should stop, Syu," Stella said quietly once she had finished. "It's getting too da-"

"No," I said, cutting her off. She turned toward me, apprehension in her eyes.

"We can't stop now." I stood up, shrugging my shirt on. "You-all of you-have come too far to quit. And you ... you're so smart, Stella. I'd hate to take that away."

"But you wouldn't be," she protested. "I know things now! I won't-"

I shook my head. "It's a moot point. I'm committed."

"Are you sure?" Stella came forward and laid a hand on my chest.

I nodded resolutely. "I'll take the blame and punishment."

Then she leaned up and kissed me soundly.

**.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.**

So we continued running what had become our little school, and of course, we were caught again. This time, several of the others stood up to accept blame. Lortey was much less accommodating this time, and he not only beat them but cut several of their fingers off. Then, not satisfied that would work either, he burned their eyes out with acid, rendering them blind and unable to read or write any longer.

The memory still gives me nightmares.

Still, the slaves came back for more. I was frankly shocked they still trusted me enough to be the glue of our little group, but education and learning had somehow drawn us together. They knew information lent them the power they had lacked for so long, and even blind and maimed, they begged me to teach them something new.

But Lortey must have meant business the third time he discovered learning under his roof. He made sure none of his slaves would ever learn again. I still can't understand how I managed to escape his wrath this time. He should have killed me, knowing full well I was the entire reason his slaves had learned anything at all. Then again, perhaps he knew that destroying the only thing I cared about was punishment enough.

When he entered the barn, we all scattered, racing from him like he was some kind of hell-bound devil. Stella and I took off in opposite directions, she heading toward the great house, and I for the hay loft. Lortey left me and followed her. I'm sure the screams I heard only moments later were hers, and they made my blood run cold.

Stella wound up nearly beat to death. Lortey broke her nose, her left humerus, both tibias, her clavicle and bruised her sternum. Additionally, he'd seared her beautiful eyes shut and burnt her hands so severely, her fingers melded together. He then left her to die. I didn't find her until nearly a day later, at which point I struggled to return the favor she'd done me, but I lacked the medical knowledge so necessary in such circumstances, and she steadily grew worse. She became feverish and restless, clear evidence of infection. I did what I could to make her comfortable, but I'm sure it eased her pain no more than it did mine.

Two days later, Stella succumbed to her wounds.

* * *

Later that evening, I sat in my stall and by the flickering light of a single candle, examined the only weapon I'd ever owned: a small, rather dull knife, acquired when I began working for Lortey. Not an assault weapon my any stretch of the imagination, it had originally been intended for use in my position as stablehand: cutting sections of rope, carving wood implements and slicing treats for the horses.

Now, though, I began to consider its ability to kill a person. No, not Lortey or any Wingly ... Myself.

As suddenly as my life had improved, it had all been ripped out from under me. Things were back to the way they'd been two years ago: me living in complete solitude, dreading the dirty looks and glares of the other slaves. Utter loneliness. Having known Stella at all somehow made the pain more bearable, but still, her memory did nothing to dampen the terrible weight of the guilt and shame.

I found myself blaming Savan for much of my suffering. Had he not ever let me go free, I wouldn't be a slave; I'd still be a semi-scientist in Aglis, living a perfectly sheltered, micro-managed life. Had he not rescued me-had he not done what he thought was 'right'-I wouldn't be in this mess. Would I likely be dead? Yes, but I wouldn't be trapped in the continual hell I lived every day now, a train of thought that led me right back around to my own sentience.

I wondered how many slaves had ever attempted suicide to sever their chains and how many had actually succeeded. I wondered what became of them then. I wondered what it was like to die.

_What exactly happens when we die? _I thought. _Do we go somewhere else or do we simply cease to exist? Is there some other world or dimension where souls reside after they've left their mortal bodies in this life? Do souls even exist at all? Is life just a meaningless existence, truncated by a cold and impartial death? Or is there some order to the universe; some being greater than ourselves who gives direction to life and plans deaths carefully and lovingly?_

I'd watched Stella die. Sat by her bedside as her life ebbed and flowed like the tide. Cried over her loss and the fact that her death was on my shoulders. I'd listened to her delirious mumblings as death approached, and heard the last terrible, gasping breath she'd drawn before expiring. The silence that followed was so ominous, it was like her soul had damned me for failing her. I'd promised to shoulder the blame and instead ran like a coward. I failed her.

The thought was too painful to continue. I sighed deeply, swallowing another sob that fought at my throat, and turned my attention back to my knife. Slowly I ran my thumb along the blade, then dragged it along my jaw and brought it down to inspect it. The knife had successfully removed some hair without irritating my skin; it wasn't nearly as dull as I'd originally assumed. A perfectly deadly weapon.

I wrapped my fingers tightly around the knife's handle, preparing to drive it home-hard, into my chest. Then I rethought, and loosened my grip on the knife. Perhaps it was better to slice my carotid arteries lengthwise and slowly bleed to death, depriving my brain of much-needed blood and oxygen. Certainly less painful... but also more cowardly. I gripped the knife fiercely again, pointing its sharp end toward my heart. I jerked my arm toward my chest ... but stopped myself suddenly short.

_No_, I decided, letting the knife fall from my grasp. It clattered to the floor. _Death is not the answer. I cannot do anything if I die, including carry the memory of Stella. Perhaps I am too cowardly to take my own life, too afraid of the unknown; but death is not the means to an end, its an end to the means. What lies beyond life is only more uncertainty... at least here, in life, I have some small bit of control._

Now feeling more resolute in the matter, I stood, brushed myself off and set about managing my nightly duties.

* * *

"Listen, Syuveil," Lortey said, sitting me down one day about two weeks later.

He rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands and leaned forward, as though he were sealing a business deal with a cohort. Grateful that he wasn't speaking in the usual cruel tone he used with me, I obliged and sat across from him, listening patiently.

"You know as well as I do that things aren't working out between us-"

I cringed at his expression; he made it sound like were were in some kind of romantic relationship.

"-so I'm giving you to my brother, Daelyn."

I raised my eyebrows in interest, but that was as far as my enthusiasm went. I was too afraid if I expressed much emotion about the change, Lortey would rescind his decision and keep me here, miserable and mourning the loss of a life I'd never know again.

"He's in dire need of a governor or tutor for his son," Lortey went on, "but unfortunately, he's unable to afford any good ones. It seems you possess a reasonable amount of skill to provide him what he needs."

Lortey brought his gaze to me. "Regardless of whether or not that pleases you, get used to it. It's your new lot in life. You're dismissed, Syuveil, but be ready bright and early tomorrow morning. Daelyn will be here to pick you up."

"Yes, sir," I said, standing and bowing.

I turned and left, grinning wildly and not feeling this giddy in nearly three years. I went back to my quarters, and the first thing I did was alter my appearance. Governors and tutors were not rugged people, and when I was clean-shaven once more and my hair had been cut, I looked at myself in the small, broken shard of mirror I kept in my stall.

I again resembled the clean-cut-and, as Bartel had said, "pretty"-boy I used to be ... but somehow, the hardness remained with me. I'd acquired strong, lean muscles through my position under Lortey, and my face, though beardless now, no longer appeared so fresh and boyish; there was no mistaking it. I'd become a man in the past two and a half years.

* * *

I hadn't thought it possible, but Daelyn Lortey somehow managed to make my life worse. Once I left the care of his older brother, I became the tutor for Lortey's young son. Though just wealthy enough to afford a slave or two, even the most questionable Wingly governors were beyond the reach of Lortey's means. Thus, a Human tutor, probably the only one ever in existence, had to suffice.

Such circumstances were surprising, considering the fortitude of his brother's bank account, but when I saw the way in which the family lived, I understood.

The mistress of the household, Dina Fratt, was not married to Lortey, but she spent as lavishly as though she were, and Lortey, though a high-ranking official in the Wingly army under Faust, made very little salary. The portion of it not allotted to Ms. Fratt was tied up in the family's living arrangement, a high-profile flat in downtown Kadessa, only a short teleportation away from the military base.

Though this position was essentially a promotion, life became even more stressful. When I wasn't tutoring, I continued to fulfill other duties, like cleaning, gardening and even acting as a butler every now and then. I was afforded very little to eat or drink and I slept and studied in a small broom closet near the west bathroom. That I was permitted to keep a stack of texts and reading material was a small concession to Daelyn Lortey's kindness; put plainly, the man was a bastard.

He was jealous and possessive, and, having heard horror stories of Wingly madams enjoying illicit sexual intercourse with their Human charges, locked me in my broom closet on a regular basis during the day while he worked. Not that I would have done anything; Ms. Fratt was a repulsive woman. He whipped me severely if I looked anywhere but at the ground in his presence and backhanded me for speaking without permission. In addition, Lortey withheld food from me if he felt the day's lessons with his son weren't up to par, which occurred frequently in his opinion. I highly doubt a Wingly could have done any better.

But even Lortey's breed of cruelty was tolerable. His son, by comparison, was more akin to Melbu Frahma in that department. Julian Lortey was an absolutely intractable little brat. Spoiled rotten by his father and step-mother (or whatever Ms. Frat was), Julian never asked for anything. He _demanded _it, and often in a high, shrieking voice that could easily be mistaken for a scream of torture. I was blamed for that very thing on numerous occasions, in fact. The boy wholeheartedly believed every ignorant thing he'd ever heard about Humans, and frequently whined to his father that he was disgusted by my presence and wheedled his way out of lessons, claiming I was certainly too stupid to teach him anything.

Lessons with young Julian almost always progressed the same way:

"Why are you here, Soo-ville?" he would ask, hotly.

"It's Syuveil," I corrected. "And I'm here to provide you with the extra instruction your father finds necessary."

"I don't need extra 'struction! I'm smart already!"

I would always roll my eyes at this point and bring out the lessons, which he would continue to refuse for a good ten minutes until I got up to leave. This usually prompted Julian to beg me to stay, because the one thing he apparently hated more than education and Humans was being alone. On those days he felt particularly spunky, I'd leave the lesson with bruised shins, scratched arms, and once, a black eye and smashed spectacles, which Lortey blamed on my clumsiness.

But the misery I faced on a daily basis changed one day, when Lortey came home with a new task from his superior and a determination in his eyes that told me I would very soon be facing something quite beyond my qualifications.

**.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.**

The next day, I found myself tagging along behind Daelyn Lortey as he marched through the subterranean basement of the military complex. The maze of hallways, rooms and laboratories spread for what must have been miles, but we finally came to a stop outside a set of metal double-doors which led into a white, sterile room beyond.

"This is the weapons lab, Syuveil," Lortey said, as though explaining to a child. "As chief weapons engineer for the Wingly army, Head Magician Faust has ordered me to develop a concrete set of magical weapons that can be carried into battle and used by those men who've temporarily drained their magic stores. That job now falls to you because I'm much too busy to complete it."

He paused then, as he punched in his passcode for the door. It beeped, asking for a fingerprint scan, and Lortey obliged, then stepped back as the computer prepared to unlock the security mechanism. The doors buzzed, hissed and then opened, allowing us passage into the lab.

It was like coming home to me. I hadn't seen the inside of a laboratory for nearly four years, and the sights and smells made me overjoyed. The equipment and acoutrements, the chemicals and compounds, the sterility of the environment ... all of it excited me.

"Don't get too comfortable here," Lortey said, apparently recognizing my enthusiasm. "You'll only be here four days. The task I've given you must be completed by then."

"Yes, sir," I said, but my brain was still marvelling at the fact that I was again in a lab.

"Good. I'll be leaving now. I trust you now have everything at your disposal that you could possibly need to fashion me some magical weapons. Remember, Syuveil... Four days only. I'll be back then to see your progress."

And with that, Lortey turned and exited the lab, closing and locking the doors behind him.

Eager to be completely alone in my comfort zone, I simply sat down and enjoyed my solitude for a time. Then, once I was ready, I surveyed my equipment and supplies. If I'd heard Lortey correctly, I would have four days away from him and his horrible family. Alone, in a laboratory with nothing to keep me company but my own experiments and projects.

Almost immediately I set to work developing the weapons Lortey demanded. It was a task for a simpleton, really, and I knew it would take me no time at all, given the advanced technologies available in a Wingly facility. I came up with the idea of harnessing Wingly magic in small vessels, that, when broken, would release the magic on the desired opponent. I forged glass containers in a variety of colors, each corresponding with an elemental base, then further labeled the vessels with either a letter 'M' or an 'S,' indicating whether the attack was meant for a single person or multiple ones.

From there, it was only a matter of harvesting the Wingly magic, fusing it with a tangible solution such as sodium selenate, and then carefully pouring it into the glass bottles. Finally, I corked the bottles, named the spells and labelled them properly, aligning them neatly in two rows on a cart. All in all, my development was brilliant.

I then settled down for my first night's rest in the lab. My leftover time was spent continuing the dragon magic research I'd orignally begun while still in Aglis, under Savan's tutelage.

* * *

Four days after I'd begun my endeavor in the weapons lab, I heard the doors' airtight seal release and the barrier slide open, then footfalls on the sterile tile floor. By their sound, it was my master. I hadn't seen him at all the past four days. It had been a welcome relief to work in solitude and silence, but here he was again. He entered quietly and stalked about the room. I glanced up long enough to see the expression on his face: eyes narrowed in scrutiny, nose up in arrogance, mouth turned down in derision. With hands clasped behind his back, he slowly made his way around the room, inspecting every last device and discovery I'd made since four days prior.

It seemed to last an eternity. I pretended to continue working while he observed my research, but all the while I kept a silent eye on him, watching as he poked and prodded my inventions, snorting in disgust.

"What is this?" Lortey snapped finally, gesturing widely with his arm toward my research.

I turned to him and opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off.

"This is bullshit! You didn't do what I asked at all! I give you four days to work and you come up with nothing but a few fancy glass bottles! I didn't ask for spirits, Syuveil, I asked for _weapons!"_

My stomach churned, and my face flushed with irritation. "But Sir, these are-"

"Shut up! I gave you four days. _Four _... _days_," Lortey ranted. "A person of your supposed intellect ought to be able to complete such an easy task, but you've managed to make it difficult! I asked for portable magic weapons. Something that can be carried in a pouch into battle-"

"But these can-"

"-not ... not whatever these are! They'll break in a second!"

"Sir, can't I just demonstrate-"

"SHUT UP! And no, you can't demonstrate anything! I ought to destroy these! Throw them in the trash! Pathetic! I wanted magic, not mixed drinks! It's ridiculous! Damned child's play!"

With each new insult, my temper had grown, and I, suddenly not content to placate anyone anymore, let it bubble up. Every injustice I'd faced in the past four years came pouring forth in the form of rage. Every whipping, every deprival of a basic need, every cruel, ignorant expression. Lortey continued his rant, but I was suddenly trapped in a torrent of miserable memories.

_Child's play indeed_, I thought bitterly. _I'll show you child's play ..._

Without thinking, I reached down and closed my fingers around the first thing I touched: one of my magic bombs. Its red glass container, marked on the side with an 'M,' told me it was a Gushing Magma, but before I could stop to think and consider the consequences, I reeled back and launched the weapon across the room toward Lortey.

Almost immediately, I regretted my actions, but it was too late. The magic bomb exploded and pillars of fire erupted from the floor, spraying sparks and sending flames at anything in its path. The explosion blew Lortey backward, into a cart full of beakers and vials which clattered to the floor and added the tinkling of glass shards to the music of the chaos. Though much of my research had just been destroyed in a matter of seconds, I marveled at the success of my development. It worked. The effort had paid off.

When the spell died, however, my master lay crumpled against the far wall. Too stunned to move, I watched in silence as he groaned in agony, struggling and floundering about, trying in vain to get traction amidst the destruction and climb to his feet.

"Sir!" I cried, shocked to see him still conscious.

He met my eyes, wearing an expression I thought I'd never see on a Wingly: utter terror. Slowly, his line of vision fell to where a spray of glass had pierced his chest. Then, from either horror or pain, he collapsed again; his chin fell to his chest and his head lolled to the side. Unconscious ...

I ran to him then, and not pausing to consider the best course of action, grabbed the exposed portion of the biggest glass shard and yanked. Blood sprayed from the wound, covering me in red and tainting the air with a faint, metallic note.

_It pierced his aorta_. It felt like I'd just been kicked in the abdomen. _No ... no, no, no... what have I done?!_

Suddenly struck with my own atrocity, I threw the glass shard to the ground like it had burned me, and my hands flew to my face, temporarily hiding the carnage from view.

_I did this_, I thought, horrified. _I killed him ..._

_This is all your fault, you idiot! _my conscience raged. _You let your damned vanity get the best of you! You murdered a man in cold blood!_

_No. No, no,_ I protested, silently. _I didn't! It was an accident! I'm no murderer!_

But somehow, deep down, I knew it was true. I'd wanted to murder Lortey and his horrible brother the day I'd met them. _Murder _them. Exact revenge for my own pain and suffering. I'd wanted to do it each and every time they'd whipped me, slapped me, cursed me and belittled me. It frightened me to suddenly come face-to-face with my own violent nature. It was a baser side of me that I'd never known I was capable of, yet for some reason, it sickened me less than my cowardice.

I turned back to my master, his breathing now labored and rasping. I watched until it finally stopped and he went still. His blood now trickled from the wound in his chest, staining everything its glaring shade of crimson and finally pooling on the floor.

Overcome, I choked back a sob, collapsed to my knees and threw my head back to stare up through the glass ceiling to the blue sky beyond. The scream of despair I'd wanted to utter for so long and kept supressed finally escaped.

_Soa, what do I do?!_

* * *

_Did I surprise you?! Woo-wee! A pretty epic beginning for our favorite intellectual, I think! Keep reading to find out how he gets out of the mess I created for him, haha. Let me know what you thought; reviews are greatly appreciated! (And if you're wondering, yes, Stella was an incarnation of Princess Lisa.)_


	10. Effugium (Escape)

_A/N: Get ready for some more artistic liberties, guys! (I know, I know ... I just have a really unconventional way of writing. Deal.) We're going to start telling the story from multiple POVs per chapter! These will be denoted with the character's name above the section (Ex: __**Rose**__), unless the section is in third person, in which case there will be no notation. Now read on!_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_Effugium_

_**Diaz**_

The Wingly Palace towered above Kadessa's sparkling skyline, sporting an array of colored lasers designed to impress, amaze and strike fear into anyone visiting the city. Celebratory music floated to our ears on the light breeze, the din of mingled voices mixed in, and it seemed partying Winglies hung out of every door and window in town.

I turned to my cohorts, keeping my head and voice low. They bent close to me, listening intently, for they knew our mission was both dangerous and imperative.

"Alright, here's the plan-" I glanced over my shoulder briefly, just to make sure we weren't being watched. Satisfied that all was well, I turned back around. "-when we hit the city park, we're going to split off to our respective destinations. Zyra will head east, Silvus west, and I'm going north. I assume you all know your objectives?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Should anything go awry, meet back in the city park. We will leave together. Otherwise, once you've obtained your party, leave the city at once. We cannot afford errors tonight."

I led our group onward, and as discussed, we split off at the park, each one going their own way. No one gave us a second look, though I couldn't be certain if it was due to our disguise or because everyone in town was busy celebrating Frahma's birthday. I decided not to dwell on it and pressed on, passing the alley where I'd met with Zieg only a week earlier. Somehow, the wait had seemed like forever. I was anxious to break the kid free and right any wrongs done in my past. No doubt Gerard was furious with me, and there was no guarantee Anais would still want to associate with me. I hoped Zieg had made good on his promise to convince everyone.

When I finally stood before my destination, I took a deep breath, clutched the uniform I'd stolen for Zieg and stared up the long path to Palatial Hill and the Thayus mansion.

_Here goes nothing_, I thought, fighting the feeling of dread rising in my chest. _Soa help us ..._

* * *

_**Rose**_

Somehow Zieg had managed to convince the other slaves that freedom via escape was a reasonable idea, and the lot of them sat or stood awkwardly in the foyer, looking anxious and worried.

I leaned against the balcony railing overlooking the foyer.

"Please tell me you've decided to come with us," Zieg called up to me.

I smiled but shook my head. Zieg mirrored the gesture, though much less coyly. He was obviously irritated.

"Don't make me beg," he said, a forced laugh barely disguising the annoyance in his voice.

"I won't," I replied. "You just have to stop asking."

Zieg snorted. "You think this is something I can just give up on? That I can walk away from it, knowing you'll still be stuck in this hell hole while the rest of us are free?-"

I wasn't certain Zieg wanted a direct answer from me, so I didn't respond.

"-Well I can't," he said. "And I won't."

"You won't give up? Or you won't quit asking?"

"Both."

"Why?" I fired back, intrigued. "Why bother? Why do you care so much about my welfare? About what happens to me?"

"Because I do!" Zieg snapped. "Can't you just accept that and come with us?"

Part of me wanted nothing more than to drop everything and follow Zieg to the ends of the earth. Part of me wanted to believe in Zieg-believe that he cared deeply about my well-being, but the truth was that we were barely acquaintances, at best. I knew very little about him, and I'd made sure he knew even less about me. I would have given anything to obtain my freedom ... except for my past. The chains of slavery weren't really what held me. It was my past-what I used to be and could have been before _that_-which held me, bound steadfast to slavery for my own protection. If I ran-if I were _free_-that protection would cease to exist and I would likely end up with the rest of my family: in the grave.

Zieg's voice prevented me from spiraling any deeper into the memories.

"Fine, Rose," he said coldly. "But Diaz will be here soon, so this is your last chance."

"I understand, I just ... I just can't leave right now."

"Why not? Do you understand what will happen to you when we leave and you're still here? Do you?"

I bit my lip, turning my eyes to the floor.

"They'll execute you," Zieg said sharply, answering his own question. "For being an agent to a crime."

"But I won't be the only one left," I protested. "I don't see Gerard or Max with you! They must not be-"

"It doesn't matter, Rose! The Winglies don't care! They will chew you all up and spit you out, and I don't want your blood on my conscience!"

"Well why are you so sure you'll succeed?" I fired back. "You could just as easily wind up dead! Or worse!"

Zieg just shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "I can't be sure of anything tonight. I-_we_-just trust that we'll be successful. We'll have to be. But even if we're not-even if we wind up dead, like you say, the authorities will still find their way back here. ...To arrest you."

I took a deep breath and gripped the banister railing fiercely to keep from losing my temper. I knew he was right. I would be framed as an accomplice no matter which path Fate chose and escape was my only way out, but ultimately, Zieg and I were at an impasse. I couldn't make him understand my reasons for staying and he still wasn't able to persuade me to go. Our wills were matched and at odds. There was no use fighting it. And yet ...

"Please," Zieg pleaded. "Come with us. Just trust me a little and come. You'd have freedom. A new life! You could do anything you wanted!"

_No_, I thought. _No, I can't. I'll never be able to what I want and neither will you. You might be free, but the Winglies will be watching your every move. It won't be true freedom..._

I wished I had the courage to say all of it aloud to Zieg, but just sighed instead.

"Well?" he asked, the hope in his voice painfully obvious.

"I ... I can't ..."

"God, Rose," Zieg groaned, exasperated. "What would it take? What would ever make you leave this place?"

I bit my lip, trying to force my brain to think of a sufficient answer that would appease Zieg yet still allow me the luxury of maintaining impartiality.

Then, Zieg countered himself. "Better yet, what's keeping you here?"

I frowned. "Zieg, I've already told you. The chil-"

"No, really." Zieg met my gaze, fire burning in his eyes. "I want a real reason. One that doesn't involve those damned bastard brats."

I just looked at him, lacking even my usual inclination to rest my hand on my hip. Several moments passed where we just stood there like that, staring at each other. Finally, he sighed in a disgusted sort of way and turned his back to me.

"Exactly," he spat. "You have no reasons."

_No, I do! _my conscience screamed. _I just can't share them with you ..._

But he'd already won the argument. I turned around and headed down the hallway, trying in vain to ignore the hateful glares of the others and fighting my own guilt at the look of disappointment on Zieg's face.

* * *

_"Kill them if you must, but they cannot not leave alive."_

The words rang in his head like a chant as he trotted down the stairwell to the basement. The wet, musty smell of damp earth assaulted his nostrils as he entered the underground chamber.

_The perfect place to begin the destruction..._

After making a few initial preparations, he turned to his materials: a crumpled wad of newspapers-in fact, the very ones in which the self-righteous bastard had communicated his escape-a bundle of twigs and sticks, and a douse of flammable oil from that disgusting pig of a cook. He smiled wickedly; the urgency of his mission was so exciting, he could hardly contain himself.

He struck a match, watching it burn momentarily. The flame flickered and danced, sending wild, eerie shadows across the walls.

_When this reaches the generator, there will be nothing left ..._

He laughed and stooped to his knees, touching the match to the newspaper, then tossing it to the ground. The burning paper soon ignited the rest of the pile.

_There,_ he thought, satisfied. _They'll never see it coming._

He stood, clapped the dirt from his hands, and regarded his work. The tiny match-flame had already become a crackling fire, and soon it would be a roaring blaze, dashing any hope of escape and destroying that damned Zieg Feld once and for all.

He laughed again and started back up the stairs. He had to hide if he were to avoid blame ... or live. He took a final glance over his shoulder at the fire. It would soon reach the ceiling and the wooden eaves that rested there.

_Forgive me, Master. But they must be stopped at all costs..._

* * *

_**Zieg**_

"You can't let her stay here!" Liza cried, grabbing my wrist as Rose walked away. "She has to come with us!"

"No," I snapped, wrenching my arm from the maid's grasp. "Let her go. If she gets smart, she'll come."

Liza and the others gave me a doubtful look, and I settled back against the wall, staring intently at the door and wondering if Diaz had even made it into the city yet. The sun was just starting to sink below the horizon, dyeing the sky vivid shades of pink, orange and violet, and I knew Frahma's party would be starting soon, if it hadn't already.

_Diaz, you'd better get here soon_, I thought. _We don't have a lot of time ..._

As if on cue, I heard a guttural scream outside, then a sound like something had just fallen against the door.

"Diaz!" I gasped, feeling both anxious and relieved that he'd made it this far. We were really going to get out ...

I traded glances with the others. Their faces betrayed their emotions; they looked how I felt. Excited, determined and scared as hell. Jessup motioned me toward the door, urging me to open it, but I didn't have to. The door swung inward to reveal a dark silhouette, framed by the doorway and the last shreds of crimson sunlight.

I found myself face-to-face with a Wingly patrol guard. There was no mistaking him for Diaz in costume. No, this man had turned his wings on as a display of power and authority. Their quiet whirring tipped me off, and sure enough, two shimmering, magical, nearly invisible wings protruded from his back, propelling him just inches off the ground.

"You're all under arrest by order of His Excellency Melbu Frahma!" he barked.

"What?!" Abe cried. "Zieg, you said-"

"Shut up!" I snapped, glancing at him over my shoulder. I turned back to the guard. He just frowned at me, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sir, we haven't done anything," I said as calmly as I could manage. "Our master is at His Authority's celebration. We haven't done anything wrong."

"Right," he said sarcastically, nodding like he believed me. "Sure you haven't. At least _yet_. That's why I'm here. His Excellency's been informed of an elaborate escape scheme, which leads back here." He smiled wickedly and looked me right in the eyes. "Zieg Feld, you're under arrest for conspiracy to attempt escape."

He pulled a set of wrist shackles from his pocket and lunged at me. I jumped backward and Liza screamed.

Then, from out of nowhere, another patrol guard lept at the Wingly's back, screaming like a madman and driving a gardening trowel through his back. The guard's wings stopped humming and he dropped to the floor, spurting blood. I took a few more steps back as the other man stumbled into the foyer, dragging his feet and gasping for breath. We watched in silence as he removed his helmet, then slowly, he looked up.

"Diaz!" Anais cried, her voice choked with emotion. She ran forward and threw herself at him, wrapping him tightly in her embrace.

"Anais ..." He turned his face to her hair and breathed deeply, petting her head and holding her tightly. "My sister ..."

She pulled back and looked at him, cupping his face in her hands. "I can't believe you're really ..."

He grinned then, and turned to the rest of us.

"Quickly now," he said. "We don't have much time before the real authorities show up. This clown must have followed me here." He motioned toward the dead guard.

I nodded in agreement, still trying to wrap my head around what the guard had said. _Frahma's been informed of an elaborate escape scheme, which leads back here ..._

"Here Zieg. Take this," Diaz said, handing me a folded garment. "Put it on."

I unfolded the fabric, revealing the uniform of a Wingly patrol officer.

"Diaz, where did you-?"

"Never mind," he snapped, kneeling before Jessup. "We have a lot to do in a short time. I'll explain later. Now hurry!"

I ran to the generator room and stripped, donning the patrol uniform and yanking my boots back on. Strangely, I heard popping and sizzling noises the entire time.

_Must be the generator_, I thought. _That, or somebody's setting off firecrackers for the party..._

I made my way back to the foyer, where Diaz had arranged the others' costumes. Jessup was now shirtless and covered in dirt; Liza's dress was torn and muddy, and Abe now wore a tattered tunic, belted at the waist with rope.

"Why-"

"They're our prisoners," Diaz explained, adjusting a tear on Chomm's shirt. "They have to look the part."

I nodded. "Good idea."

Diaz knelt next to a canvas bag I hadn't noticed him bring in, and pulled something out.

"Here, take this," he said, turning around. My mouth fell open when I saw what it was. He held my old broadsword in its scabbard with the belt attached. Diaz grinned at me.

"You'll need your weapon," he said. "Just in case."

"How ... how did you-?"

"I've got a few connections. Just take it."

I accepted the sword and immediately strapped it on. Though I hadn't used it in over a year, its familiar weight at my hip was comforting.

"Alright," Diaz said, turning to look at all of us at once. "Here's the plan. Zieg and I are going to shackle you guys together once we reach the courtyard outside. Then, we'll lead you all through the city, and once we reach the teleporter we'll warp to the ground. If anyone asks questions, let us answer. I hope to get out of here without a hitch, but be prepared to fight, just in case."

Liza's eyes went wide, and Abe coughed to hide his surprise, but the rest of the group looked fairly confident.

"No questions then?" Diaz paused. "Good. Anais, lead everyone to the courtyard. Zieg and I will follow."

Diaz began ushering the Thayus slaves out the front door, past the dead guard, but I was suddenly too preoccupied with my senses to pay attention. The popping and crackling I'd heard in the generator room had steadily grown louder, and now there was a roaring in my ears that hadn't been there before. I briefly wondered if I was dying, but then I smelled smoke; the hot, earthy smoke of a wood-burning blaze, and it hit me.

"Get out now!" I called to the others. "Hurry! Run!"

Diaz looked up. "What's wrong, Zieg?"

"Fire!" I shouted.

At that moment, an explosion ripped through the back of the house, sending fireballs screaming our way. I threw myself to the floor, dodging the firey blast and hoping desperately everyone else had been as smart. The wall of glass windows blew outward and suddenly flames surrounded us, dancing in the gusts of wind that now billowed from the blaze and whipped through the house, only fed further by the lack of windows.

"Go!" I shouted to the others, but immediately coughed on the thick grey smoke now choking the air.

I rolled to my hands and knees, crawling beneath the thickest smoke, and made my way to Diaz, who lay very near the shattered windows. His arms were scratched and bloody from the glass, and it appeared he was unconscious.

_Great_, I thought miserably. _We'll never get out of here without him!_

"Diaz!" I cried, grabbing his arm and shaking him. "Diaz, come on!"

He groaned loudly as I rolled him to his back. I knew in the back of my mind it was a bad idea to move a person who was unconscious, but this was no time for proper first aid.

"Come on!" I shouted.

"Zieg ..." Diaz opened his eyes, squinting against the light of the blaze. "What happened?"

"The house is on fire! Come on, we've gotta go!"

I stuck an arm beneath him, hoisting him to a sitting position, and he draped his arm around my shoulders, allowing me to help him stand.

"My God!" Diaz gasped as I dragged him to his feet. "Who could have done this?!"

_Gerard_, was my only thought, but before I could reply, a terrified scream resounded and I whirled around to see none other than Gerard, stumbling out of the blaze, his hair and clothes singed and black. He was running, headed straight for the front door.

"You bastard!" I shouted. "Are you trying to get us all killed?!"

"Fuck off, Zieg!" Gerard retorted, through a fit of coughing. "I want out!"

"Shoulda thought about that before you set the house on fire!" I screamed, abandoning Diaz and jerking Gerard back from the door. He landed hard on his ass, but I yanked him to his feet and grabbed his throat before I could think.

"Please ..." he whined. "Please! Zieg! Lemme go!"

"I could kill you, Gerard! We're risking our lives for th-"

"Please! Just let me go with you!"

"I gave you the chance last week!" I screamed in outrage. "How dare you think you can come now, after all you've said and done!"

"I swear to Soa, I didn't! I didn't do it!"

"Yeah, and I'm Melbu Frahma!"

A mini-explosion from the generator shot billowing flames and smoke toward us. Diaz started coughing; Gerard fought harder now.

"PLEASE!" he screamed, clawing at my hands and kicking his legs. "Please! I'll do anything!"

"Let him go, Zieg!" Diaz cried. "He didn't do it!"

I loosened my grip, and Gerard pulled away, scampering out the door to meet the others, and I was suddenly hit with the identity of the real culprit. _Max ... _

I don't know why I didn't suspect anything before, but now it was crystal clear why my instincts had been telling me not to trust the guy. I suddenly wished I had never mentioned anything to him, and it was obvious our escape was going to be much more difficult than I'd thought. No doubt every patrolman on the force would be out tonight.

My first instinct was to find Max and throttle him, but my mind was already on other things. One of the carved, laquered, open rafters in the foyer dangled precariously from its mount on the ceiling, and I heard the snap as it broke loose and came crashing to the floor in a whoosh of heat and flame, sending up sparks and cinders in its landing.

"Zieg!" Diaz shouted, covering his mouth and nose with one arm and waving the other widly for me to follow. "Come on! We've gotta go!"

Then, I heard a scream, and I remembered ...

Rose was trapped upstairs.

* * *

_**Rose**_

"Ahhh!"

I threw my hands up to protect my face, stumbling and falling backward in my haste to escape the flames. Quickly, I scrambled to my feet, but I immediately inhaled a lungful of heat and smoke, which burned my windpipe and sent me into a coughing fit.

Then, "Rose! Rose, can you hear me?!"

_Zieg ..._

"Zieg!" I cried, but I was afraid the coughs that followed concealed my voice.

But sure enough, he emerged from the flames, shielding his face with an arm and looking around wildly. He wore the uniform of a Wingly patrol guard, an obvious part of their escape ruse.

"Zieg!" I shouted again, and started forward, but I took no more than two or three steps before he hollered, "Rose, watch out!"

I looked up just in time to see the foyer's elegant crystal chandelier break free from its moorings. For a split second I thought I was on the fast track to meet Death face to face, and then I was slammed full force in the chest as Zieg tackled me, plowing me to the ground and shielding me as a thousand shards of glass sprayed everywhere. I opened my eyes long enough to watch Zieg sit up.

And then the world went black.

* * *

_**Zieg**_

Rose's eyes rolled back and she fell limp just as another chunk of the ceiling collapsed nearby.

_I've gotta do something_, I thought, desperate. _I can't just leave her here ..._

The blaze surrounded us on all sides, the flames licking higher and higher with each passing second.

_I can't wait anymore or we'll both die!_

I forced my now aching body to a standing position, then bent and lifted Rose; she was lighter than I'd expected, like a doll. I threw her over my shoulder and made a run for it, leaping through the blaze and sprinting for the door, all the while trying to make sure Rose didn't flop around. Diaz met me in the doorway with an irritated look, but the others cheered as I exited into the night, Rose in tow.

"Come!" Diaz cried, waving us on. "Follow me!"

He hopped off the steps and jogged down the stone path to the gardens; the rest of us tagged along, praying we wouldn't be seen by anyone. Diaz led us into a grove of trees, hidden from outside eyes, and I placed Rose carefully on the ground, cradling her head in my lap. I brushed her hair gently away from her face, tucking it behind her ears and reveling in the fact that I was actually touching her.

But somehow, it was something more.

I suddenly recalled Sarai's fairy tales of soul mates and true love, but I immediately dismissed the notion. Such stories didn't-and couldn't-exist in reality. They were child's dreams. But there was still something special about Rose that I couldn't ignore. I just didn't know what it was yet.

"Zieg." Diaz's voice.

I looked up and found everyone staring at me. Diaz nodded at Rose, and I suddenly realized I'd been in another world for a moment. Embarrassed, I stood and moved away, and while Diaz set to work on her, I distracted myself by patching everyone's wounds, including Gerard's.

I pressed a cloth soaked in a healing potion to a particularly bad section of burn on his arm. Gerard grimaced, then spoke.

"Hey, uh ... sorry about back there," he said, motioning toward the house.

I shrugged.

"I mean, I should've listened to you when-"

"It's okay," I said, standing. "You don't need to apologize. I should be doing that."

"No, listen!" Gerard stood too, then thought the better of it and sat back down. "Just... listen to me, Zieg."

I sighed and nodded at him. It wasn't like we could go anywhere. At least, not with Rose unconscious.

"I ... I know who set the fire," Gerard said quietly, almost as if he were ashamed or embarrassed. "It was-"

"Yeah, I know," I interrupted, waving the accusation away.

Gerard looked up at me, astonished. "You do?!"

"Yeah. It had to have been Max."

Gerard shook his head vigorously, and I was suddenly confused.

"What? He didn't...?"

"No, it was him," Gerard said, "but you don't know the whole story."

"Well why don't you enlighten me then?" I folded my arms across my chest and focused all my attention on Gerard.

He sighed, stuck his hands between his knees like a scolded child and turned his eyes to the ground. Then said, "I think he's been working for Frahma."

"What?!" The impact of the revelation blindsided me.

Gerard looked up and met my gaze. "I think Frahma put him up to setting the fire to stop you from escaping."

"What?!"

"I think Frahma-"

"I heard you! I mean, why would Max agree to that? I was under the impression that he hated Frahma as much as the rest of us! What, did Frahma offer him something? Candy? Gold? A new position?"

Gerard shrugged. "I don't know, Zieg. Just ... I just know that Max hasn't been Max lately. And now, after the fire ..." He shook his head, letting his thought trail off.

"Well how did you-"

"Zieg."

Diaz's voice interrupted my interrogation of Gerard. I turned around to see him kneeling by Rose. He grinned and I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waking up.

* * *

_**Rose**_

"Rose."

A calm male voice. Cool air.

"Rose, wake up."

Someone pressed a wet cloth to my forehead. The black suddenly became blurry blobs of color as I came to. The blooming trees, the wood and wrought-iron benches and the cobblestone-covered ground came slowly into view, and I was struck with the familiarity of the place. I was on the ground in the tree grove... our practice area. For a moment, I was relieved.

_The fire was just a nightmare ... a hallucination. Toan must have really beat me that last match..._

Then the cruel harshness of reality struck me.

_No_, I thought miserably. _No, Toan is angry with me. He wouldn't be here..._

Then, the man's voice again. "Rose, wake up. Come on. ... There, now..."

When I was finally able to focus, I found myself staring into the face of a middle-aged Human man with a thick beard and shaggy brown hair. He turned and addressed Zieg, who stood behind him, looking quite concerned.

"She's going to be all right," the man said.

"Oh, thank God," Zieg breathed. "Thanks, Diaz."

_He saved me_, I thought, my brain fuzzy. _The fire ... Zieg saved my life ..._

The man named Diaz helped me sit up and I saw the bright orange glow through the trees. The Thayus mansion would soon be nothing but a pile of stone and rubble.

"We must be going now," Diaz said, standing and handing a satchel to Liza. He turned back to Zieg. "You can carry her."

Diaz walked off and Zieg turned to me. I hastily climbed to my feet, though immediately wished I hadn't.

"I can walk myself, thanks," I said. Zieg gave me a worried look, so I added, "I'm fine."

"It's okay," he assured. "I can carry you if you need me to."

I shook my head. "Really, I'm fine. It's not necessary."

The truth was that I vaguely remembered Zieg lifting me, recalled the sensation of being cradled in his arms. It was both comforting and unsettling at the same time. I forced myself to forget it as Diaz gathered us together to explain the getaway plan.

"Stay quiet, keep your heads down and follow our lead," he said, motioning toward Zieg.

After shackling the rest of us, they each jammed a helmet on, and we set off through the city toward the teleporting device, doing our best to play our parts and avoid attention. It didn't last long, however. A troop of patrol guards stood in Town Square near the Parliament building, and they looked up as our group came into view.

"'Oy!" one of them shouted. He wore chevrons on his sleeve, so I assumed he was an officer of rank. "Stop right there!"

_"Shit!" _I heard Zieg mutter.

"Stay calm," Diaz whispered. "Don't move unless I give the signal. Let me do the talking."

Zieg nodded, straightened his posture and turned to face the officer, who was now jogging toward us at a leisurely pace.

"Good evening gentlemen," he said as he came to a halt. "Please state your postions and purpose."

"You first," Diaz barked.

The man nodded, though he looked annoyed. "Corporal Lerew Hearst, at your service." He saluted, then said, "Now may I have your positions and purpose?"

Diaz drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, then saluted. "Sergeant Friddell. And this is Officer Jensali. We're on strict orders to escort these prisoners out of Kadessa ... and pause for no one."

"I see," Hearst said. "But this is a restricted area, Sergeant. Fireworks tonight, in honor of His Excellency. I'm surprised you haven't heard the order."

"I was only told to get these prisoners out of here," Diaz countered. "Didn't hear about any fireworks."

Corporal Hearst nodded and said, "I understand, sir. Please remain here while I find out what's going on." He then turned and jogged back to the patrol station, where he said something to the guards outside and entered the building.

"He's only a petty officer," Zieg whispered, leaning close to Diaz. "You outrank him. We could just leave."

"But they'll come after us," Diaz said. "I want to avoid a confrontation if at all possible."

"But we'd have more of a chance if we just run now!"

"No, Zieg. Our best chance is getting out of here alive! Just let me talk to them. I can get us out of this."

"But-"

"Shh! Look."

Diaz pointed across Town Square; Corporal Hearst appeared out of the patrol station, now flanked by two more officers, whose sleeve insignia indicated they were much higher up the chain of command. Zieg mumbled another expletive.

The officers approached slowly, the three of them perfectly in step and clearly enjoying the drama of the moment. They came to a stop before Zieg and Diaz, Hearst stepping forward to introduce his colleagues.

"I'm sure you know Chief Santoria and Lieutenant Renael," Hearst said, the smugness in his voice obvious.

"Ah, yes," Diaz said, saluting. "Good evening, sirs."

Santoria and Renael didn't look amused and they didn't return the salute.

"I'm certain you must've gotten your orders from them, right Sergeant?"

Diaz hesitated. "Ahh ... err ... um, well, actually I-"

Hearst smirked widely and said, "That's what I thought." He then turned to face Lieutenant Renael. "You gave no such orders, did you, Sir?"

Renael shook his head. "Not tonight, I didn't. It's a national holiday, for cryin' out loud! The only prisoners scheduled to leave Kadessa aren't due out for three days. Besides-" He moved a little closer to Diaz and Zieg, almost as if he were trying to sniff them out. "-you two aren't who you say you are."

Diaz took a step back, and Zieg grasped his sword's hilt.

"Of course we are!" Diaz protested. "You see our badges!"

"Officer Jensali and Sergeant Friddell turned up dead three weeks ago!" Renael raged. "On a hunt for escaped slaves outside Mayfil!"

The resulting looks on Diaz and Zieg told me the patrol had just uncovered the fatal flaw in their plan. I suddenly had a sinking feeling in my stomach that, even if we wound up alive, our end would not be pretty.

"Remove your helmets," Santoria ordered, sternly.

"B,b, but we were just-Sir, please! You must underst-"

_"Remove your helmets," _Santoria repeated, irritated now. He was apparently uninterested in playing Diaz's game.

Diaz and Zieg exchanged glances, and before I knew it, Zieg had drawn his sword and lunged at the patrol chief, bringing his blade down and knocking the man off-balance. Santoria recovered smoothly, though, drawing his rapier and countering Zieg's next attack. Diaz quickly unlocked our shackles, setting us free, but I was already focused on the battle at hand. My heart leapt into my throat as Santoria drew back, ready to impale Zieg, but Diaz flew in as backup, driving his foot into Santoria's back and giving Zieg just enough time to finish the man off.

Renael quickly began drawing a sigil, but Zieg reached over and stabbed him right through the neck. Blood poured from the man's mouth and he sputered briefly, then dropped heavily to his knees, finally falling face-down to the ground. Hearst tried to pick up where Renael left off, but Jessup turned and clocked him in the side of the head. Liza shrieked, so I kicked her in the shin, making her immediately quiet.

Evidently noticing the commotion, a troop of guards raced over, throwing themselves at us in furious redemption for their leaders. Aware that Zieg and Diaz couldn't do this alone, Chomm started doling out weapons, snatching anything off the ground he could find. He handed me a fallen tree branch, just thick enough to do some damage. Abraham picked up Renael's dagger, and Jessup wrenched a loose iron bar from a nearby trash receptacle. Gerard and Anais, also armed with tree limbs, tripped guards and smashed their heads in, rendering them either useless or dead.

But just when I thought we might have a chance, a flood of armed guards poured from the patrol station and suddenly more people were in the fray than there had originally been. The authorities appeared out of nowhere, two more replacing any one that fell. Zieg stabbed and sliced, an obvious expert swordsman. I had known it all along, but it was all the more thriling to watch him up close. I did the best I could with the tree branch I'd been given-jabbing at faces and cracking it on heads and kneecaps-but some time into the fight, I heard a familiar voice call my name and it wasn't Zieg's.

"Rose!" it called. "Rose, catch!"

I turned in time to see Toan tossing me his rapier. I caught the weapon easily, glad to feel the weight of the dagger in my hand, but nevertheless confused.

"Toan, what are you-?"

"Ask questions later!" he shouted, drawing his patern for a sigil in the air.

With a wave of his hand, Toan's spell released and burning rain like blood poured down on the Winglies. They grew instantly fiercer and I was forced to abandon my observation of my trainer. I began using the moves he had shown me: the More and More on one man, whirling into a Whip Smack on the next. I caught sight of Zieg as he shoved an assailant Toan's way, evidently receptive of any help we could get. Toan smashed his fist in the man's face and started another sigil. Before I knew it, an intense, frigid wind blew, bringing with it ice and snow and temporarily freezing our opponents.

Zieg wiped his brow and said, "I should've considered Wingly allies sooner."

Toan sent me a wink and we were back to fighting.

By this point, Diaz had picked up a dead Wingly's weapon and started swinging it around like a madman, though his movements made it difficult to tell whether it was a spear or a sword. Toan drew another spell, sending a shower of ice spears at several enemies, knocking them out permanently, and suddenly the battle's odds were in our favor. I increased the ferocity of my attacks, no longer concerned that I might be wasting effort on a lost cause. Toan must have run out of magical energy because he stooped and picked up a fallen man's rapier, flying at his next assailant in a flurry of jabs, slices and quick footwork.

Eventually, the tide of authorities ebbed and we stood amidst a scene of carnage.

"Run," Toan said, his chest heaving. "We've got to run. No doubt Frahma's been informed."

"We?" I asked, turning to him.

He nodded once. "I'm coming."

Diaz grinned. "All the better," he said. "Let's go!"

Just a short distance from the city gates, the emergency siren blared and we picked up our pace. I desperately hoped the Wingly citizens of Kadessa were too drunk to notice, but it seemed the closer we drew to the exit teleporter, the more Winglies appeared in doorways, throwing half-full alcohol bottles and jeering. Some were sober enough to run after us; others screamed and shouted, further alerting everyone to our escape.

"Run! Let's go! Hurry!" Zieg called, pausing to wave everyone into the teleporter. Our Wingly pursuers gained ground quickly as Diaz, Anais and Jessup leapt into the teleporter, but I tripped.

"Rose!" I heard Zieg cry, but in the same instant, strong arms closed around my waist, hoisting me into the air. I looked up into the face of Toan.

He ran forward, carrying me, as Zieg continued to wave everyone on. But just as Toan and I reached the teleporter, we heard Anais scream.

"Chomm!" she cried, pointing at the crowd behind us.

I glanced back only to see the rotund chef, now lying in the street and covering his head with his arms, desperate to avoid being trampled, but it was no use. He was too big and the crowd was too bloodthirsty to miss him.

"Let him go!" Diaz shouted. "We can't save him now!"

Toan and I entered the teleporter and Diaz closed its barrier, warping us away just as a new onslaught of authorities reached the area. We paused briefly when we reached the ground outside Kadessa.

"Chomm..." Anais said quietly, her expression anguished. "He was ..."

"We can't mourn just yet," Diaz called, taking off again. "They will be after us shortly. They'll send the slave catchers!"

_Slave catchers?_ I wondered, but something Urele had said a few weeks ago vaguely came to mind. She had spoken briefly with Dorian about several escapes in the area and that her father had ordered the creation of some creatures at Aglis, designed to terrify escaped or rebellious slaves back into submission. Or kill them.

"Let's go," Toan said, grabbing my wrist and breaking me from the daydream.

I followed willingly, and only a short time later, our group again found itself pursued. Diaz trotted next to Zieg, struggling to keep up and construct a plan simultaneously. Zieg appeared anxious enough to start carrying the little man. I caught some of their conversation.

"...can't go to Magrad," Diaz huffed. "They'll follow us right there. We can't risk exposing everyone."

"So where do we go then?" Zieg barked.

"Hold on."

Our little band of refugees stopped and Diaz turned to face Zieg, his face alight with excitement and adrenaline.

"We should continue on to Mirr and see if we can't rescue some others."

"What?!" The reaction was collective, though Zieg voiced it loudest. "Are you _crazy?!"_

Diaz just stood there, grinning wildly. Zieg pressed his hands to his head and groaned.

"For what, Diaz?" he asked. "For what? To rescue a few of your old girlfriends? Get ourselves killed?"

Diaz evidently hid his emotions well, because he seemed not the least bit bothered by Zieg's offensive remark. A chill ran down my spine at the memory of Chomm falling amidst the commotion, likely trampled to death by now. Zieg ran his hands through his hair and sighed heavily.

"No, Diaz," he said firmly. "They've probably already alerted all the other cities to our escape. They'll be on the lookout for us. We lost Chomm already, and we all would've been killed if it hadn't been for him!" He jerked a thumb Toan's direction.

"True," Diaz mumbled. "It was foolish."

"And we can't even guarantee he's in it for the long haul! What if he's a double-agent? Or some kind of spy?"

"I think I can speak for myself," Toan said, an understanding smile pulling at his lips.

Zieg glowered at him. Somehow I couldn't blame him, and I'm certain Toan didn't either.

"Anyway," Zieg went on, more calmly now, "we can't do that. Not so soon ... We were successful. Hopefully the others were too. Isn't that enough for tonight?"

I wondered about the 'others,' but Diaz seemed to ponder this last question.

"I suppose it has to be," he said finally.

"Then isn't there somewhere else we can go?" Jessup asked. "And we'll have to warn everyone, won't we?"

Diaz nodded. "Abraham," he said, turning to face the former manservant. "Can you make your way to Magrad and convince everyone to clear out for the time being? We'll rebuild if necessary, but Zieg's right. No more lives should be lost if we can help it."

Abraham nodded, and immediately took off. He appeared to know where he was headed, and Diaz turned to the rest of us when Abraham had become a small dot on the horizon.

"I have a place we can go," he said. "There's an abandoned Wingly city about five leagues to the northwest of Magrad. The Winglies would never look for us there. The city was deserted more than four hundred years ago and has fallen into obvious disrepair, but I believe we can rebuild and turn it into the new Human capital."

"You're talking about Urlis, aren't you?" Toan asked. "It was in that area."

"Yes that's it. It was abandoned when Winglies developed the technology to float their cities. Right about the time the first Humans were enslaved."

Toan nodded, obviously impressed with the man's knowledge of Endiness history.

"Well if we're headed there, then we should start now," Anais remarked, glancing over her shoulder toward the sparkling lights of Kadessa shining above.

"Right," Diaz agreed, and off we went, headed into the unknown for a city I never knew existed and an existence I had never known.


End file.
